His Brother's Keeper
by Jamie552
Summary: Dean hadn’t slept in days, and as his eyes traveled up to the pale and still face of his baby brother, he was once again brutally reminded that memories couldn't be outrun. Limp!Sam...Worried!Protective Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I have absolutely no idea where this story came from, my muse (which has been on extended vacation lately) came back with a vengeance. This is what she produced lol I'm not too sure how many chapters this is going to be, probably two or three. Please let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer:** As always, I don't own Sammy, Dean or anything else remotely close to Eric Kripke's "Supernatural" universe. Just playing in the sandbox.

****************************

He was exhausted.

All he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew deep down in the depths of himself that relief wasn't coming any time soon. He hadn't slept for more than twenty minutes at a time in nearly three days and as his bloodshot eyes slid up to the pale and still face of his little brother, he was once again brutally reminded why.

Things had gotten dangerously out of hand.

Dean had realized that only seconds before Sam was thrown, without mercy, through one of the large glass windows on the far side of the dark and deserted warehouse. Dean remembered in sharp detail the limpness of Sam's body as it flew through the air…he remembered the jarring sound of shattering glass…he remembered Sam's terrifying cry.

The memories were flashes. The sounds were constant.

The poltergeist had been particularly tricky, the hunt lasting nearly four days longer than other similar hunts they had been on in the past. That final midnight jaunt to the warehouse on Seaport Boulevard, only a few minutes drive from downtown Boston, had been the culmination of hours of research, as well as trial and error.

Within only a few minutes of the brothers crossing the doorstep, the poltergeist had attacked relentlessly, bombarding them with incredibly random and incredibly dangerous objects lying abandoned and dirty on the warehouse floor. Chairs, wooden planks, metal garbage cans. It had been chillingly unexpected and they hadn't been prepared.

It had happened in fast forward. Sam had been picked up and slammed viciously into a tall metal shelving unit, a desperate shout of pain as the shelving all but collapsed under his weight. Then, as though he weighed nothing, he'd been picked up again and thrown directly out the window. Dean had stood and watched, panic stricken and horrified at his own helplessness.

It was only due to a resonating need within himself to kill the evil son of a bitch that Dean had managed to place the cleansing bags strategically around the room.

After a blinding burst of white light, Dean had ran.

Across the room, down the stairs, through the large metal side door of the building and out onto the grounds.

He'd found Sam lying still in the grass on a bed of broken glass; there was an unimaginable amount of blood and it was obvious immediately that the younger man's left arm had been broken, bent at an unnatural angle. Sam's breaths were shallow gasps, his pulse slow and sluggish.

Hardly able to draw breath, Dean had called an ambulance. The operator hadn't understood a word he'd said but paramedics responded quickly, the red and blue flashing lights casting an eerie glow over what was quickly becoming Dean's worst possible nightmare.

Sam had been rushed into emergency at Massachusetts General Hospital and it had taken nearly an hour and a half for the doctor to finally make his way out to the anxious older Winchester, who'd been pacing in the waiting room.

Sam was stable, but in critical condition.

His heart had stopped twice in the ambulance.

He'd suffered massive had trauma.

A severely fractured arm.

His heart had stopped a third time shortly after arriving at the hospital.

And finally, in a last ditch effort to save his patient's life, the doctor had placed Sam on a ventilator.

Sam Winchester was now in a coma.

The doctor's words had been direct and to the point, and Dean couldn't decide whether or not he was thankful. The diagnosis was straightforward. _Sam has suffered what is known as a closed head injury_. The doctor had explained. _Due to an increase in pressure within Sam's skull, delicate brain tissue has been destroyed and is now restricting the flow of blood and oxygen to his brain. . _

After swallowing the relentless flow of bile that had started making its way up his throat, Dean had asked his one and only question. _Will Sam wake up?_

The reply? _It's too early to tell._

That always seemed to be the answer. When doctors didn't know, whenever they had absolutely _no_ idea, that was the textbook response. '_It's too early to tell'_ and_ 'It's completely up to the patient.'_

The ICU was unearthly quiet. The steady click and puff of air coming from Sam's ventilator had quickly become the soundtrack to Dean's very existence. He came to depend on that sound. The repetitiveness of it. To sit next to his brother's bed and watch the mechanical rise and fall of his chest was an agony the likes of which the older man had never felt before; Sam had gone somewhere and Dean couldn't follow him, couldn't protect him. All he could do was sit there, anticipating the next breath. Dean's vigil beside the bed was as far as he could go.

The staff of the ICU had quickly come to know him, they actually hadn't had much choice. When Sam had been moved into the ICU from the Emergency room on the first floor, Dean had exchanged harsh words with one nurse Coggins; a wiry old bat who'd seemed determined to banish Dean from Sam's room the moment she'd laid her beady little eyes on him.

As Dean had started to lose his temper, she'd condescendingly reminded him that the ICU was a place for patients in critical condition to rest and heal, and that all the noise he was making wasn't at all acceptable. Dean had responded, his voice only getting louder, saying that he'd quite happily quiet down the second she got the hell out of his face.

Needless to say, Dean's reception in intensive care was seriously in question until Sam's newly assigned neurologist had decided that Dean was allowed to stay at Sam's side indefinitely.

Coggins, thank God, hadn't been seen since.

For three days, Dean had been dressed in hospital issued scrubs; his long-sleeved shirt and jeans had been completely soaked in Sam's blood and after being gently coaxed by one of the nurses, he'd stripped and put on the garments she'd offered him, throwing his own clothes into a "soiled linen" cart that sat only a few steps from Sam's door.

In retrospect, he probably should've found a garbage can. But the clothes, along with all of their horrible reminders, were gone…and to him, that's all that had mattered.

The thought of salvaging his shirt and jeans hadn't even crossed his mind.

Washing clothes covered in his own blood was manageable.

Washing clothes covered in _Sam's_ blood was unbearable.

Dean was in desperate need of a shower and a shave, the stubble on his face making him look more exhausted and haggard then he'd looked in years. But for all his inner strength and resolve, he couldn't find the energy to rise from the chair and disappear into the small bathroom. Leaving Sam's side for even a few minutes was enough to stir a sharp pang of anxiety deep in his chest.

The call he'd placed to Bobby earlier that afternoon was weighing heavily on his mind. The older hunter had promised he was on his way, after spouting off for nearly ten minutes how pissed he was that Dean had waited as long as he had to call in the first place. Dean couldn't be bothered to care. He was anticipating appreciating Bobby's company, and as selfish as it was, that was enough.

He didn't care about explanations or apologies. All he wanted was support; one more person to say that Sam would make it. Dean didn't care how he got it, even if Bobby was pissed.

He sat there now, at Sam's bedside, elbows pressed into the mattress, his head resting wearily in his hands. The darkness that filled the room was broken suddenly as the door flung open, the bright light pouring in from the hallway.

Dean turned around quickly in his chair, his tired eyes falling on the hunched form of Bobby as he slowly shuffled into the room.

Dean understood and recognized the look on the older man's face immediately; shock, horror and pain. It was a look he'd seen a thousand times and a look he'd worn constantly since he'd seen his baby brother thrown from a third storey window.

"Dean."

Bobby's voice was quiet and unsure, almost like he was asking Dean to confirm whether or not what he was seeing was reality. Sam, lying still in the bed; a large plastic tube protruding from his mouth, white tape carelessly holding the tube in place. The countless wires and IV lines, the beeping and the clicking.

Dean swallowed hard and very slowly stood from his chair. He watched Bobby approach the bed and in a voice quiet and raspy from underuse, he responded simply. "Yeah, Bobby."

And that was all it took.

Dean found himself in Bobby's arms suddenly, the embrace rough and unyielding. Awkwardness was forgotten, the need for personal space disregarded. It wasn't a time for boundaries. It was a time for everything else; support, grief and raw need.

His father wasn't there. Sam was there, but at the same time, he wasn't.

Bobby was the only person in the world that Dean had left.

He would take the older man's gentle assurance. He desperately needed it.

*****

"What else did the doctor say?"

Dean sighed, leaning back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "Absolutely nothing." He looked to Bobby, who had moved to stand at the end of Sam's bed. The room was still dark around them but neither cared enough to switch on the overhead light. "He said that it's too early to know whether he'll wake up or not."

"Dammit, Dean."

"Said that the swelling in Sam's brain is stopping oxygen and blood flow. We have to wait for the swelling to go down."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we wait longer."

There was an unmistakable warning in Dean's voice and he knew that Bobby had recognized it for what it was.

The truth was, the doctors had already talked to Dean about all possible worst case scenarios. They had urged Dean to think about the future; if Sam _didn't_ wake up, and it was determined there was nothing else to be done, what would his next step be? They'd subtly hinted at removal of the ventilator—letting Sam go peacefully—but Dean had refused to even acknowledge it.

That action was a last resort, and at that point in time Dean didn't even want it mentioned.

"You called your dad?"

"What do you think?"

Bobby nodded knowingly, a silent acknowledgment.

Pulling his hand from his jacket pocket, Bobby produced a white card key. "I booked a room." He nearly whispered. "You look like hell. Go shower, get some sleep. I'll sit with Sam."

"No."

"You've been sittin' here for three damn days-"

"I'm not leavin'."

"You're drivin' yourself to crap and it won't do Sam any good." Bobby's voice was imploring and Dean sighed. "You think he'd want you sittin' here like this?"

"I don't care what he'd want." Dean said, his voice still raspy. "I can't leave, Bobby. I won't."

"What about a change of clothes?"

"That would involve leaving."

"Impala's parked down in the lot. I can go down and get some of your stuff; put a bag together."

Dean couldn't care less about a change of clothes. Even though he felt heavy and disgusting, showering was the furthest thing from his mind. He wanted nothing more than to sit at Sam's side, where he belonged, waiting for the fluttering of heartbreakingly familiar green eyes.

"Dean?"

But as always, Bobby wouldn't be ignored.

Dean shifted in his seat and reached into the pocket of his worn leather jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair. He pulled the car keys out and tossed them into Bobby's waiting hand.

He didn't say a word.

"Anything else you need? Somethin' to eat? Cup of coffee?"

Dean silently shook his head.

Bobby nodded slowly. "Ok. Be right back." And silently, he left the room, bright lights from the hallway burning Dean's eyes once more.

Dean had waited hours for Bobby's presence and company. The other man's arrival had served as a minor distraction...but one thing hadn't changed; the company that Dean was really desperate for was his little brother's.

Disturbing silence and ice cold skin wasn't nearly enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to thank everyone who replied to the first chapter. I was nervous about posting this and the wonderful reviews I got were incredibly confidence-inspiring. Thank you so much! Hope you like this one, even though it's shorter :o)

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Sammy or Dean...and as always, I'm kinda bummed about it.

**********

"I think he's lookin' better. More color in his face."

Dean rubbed his face wearily and tried to nod. "Yeah, I guess."

"You don't think so?"

"Can't really tell."

With his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, Bobby slowly made his way to the other side of Sam's bed; his eyes placid and inquisitive as he studied Sam's features.

It had only been a few short hours since Bobby's arrival at the Boston hospital. The sun was slowly rising, casting a cheerful early morning glow through the small parts in the blinds. Dean still sat in his chair at Sam's right side, leaning back heavily with his foot resting on the metal bed frame just underneath the mattress. He rarely moved, and when he did it was only to run his fingers through Sam's thick, chocolate brown bangs, tenderly moving them away from his brother's face.

Bobby, for his part, was still trying to negotiate Dean into a shower, shave and sleep at the small motel only ten minutes from the hospital parking lot. The older hunter was getting frustrated, Dean knew it, but at the same time he showed understanding.

Hunters—in essence—were loners. They lived nomadic lives, crisscrossing the country and never settling in one town longer than it took to take care of business and move on. Friendships were a rarity and family meant absolutely everything to those that had it.

Sam and Dean Winchester were no exception. They were the poster children for family loyalty and fierce devotion.

That didn't stop Bobby from trying, however.

"One hour, Dean, that's all I'm askin'. Go to the motel, have a shower and get yourself cleaned up. Sleep for a bit and then head back."

"Am I really _that_ ripe, Bobby?"

Dean knew the joke had fallen flat the second it had left his mouth, but he was slightly relieved to see that Bobby appreciated the attempt at humor anyway. His eyes were gentle. "I just want you to start takin' care of yourself, that's all. When Sam gets back on his feet, he's gonna need you."

Dean sighed and wiped his mouth quickly. "Yeah, I know."

"You gotta hold yourself together. You'll only go crazy if you don't."

"You think he's gonna pull through this?"

Dean could tell that Bobby was thrown by the unexpectedness and seriousness of the question. It was a "make or break" kind of question; Bobby's confidence would mean the world to him…any negativity would completely destroy him.

Dean's eyes focused completely on Sam's face, the intense silence in the room making him swallow hard.

Finally, Bobby spoke. "Sam's a tough kid, Dean. You raised him right. If anyone's gonna make it through this, it's gonna be him."

There was a sudden stinging sensation in Dean's eyes and he found himself sniffling quietly before he could even think to help himself. The relief that small statement had released in his chest was almost suffocating—he drew a deep breath.

"You did good, Dean."

It wasn't often that Dean let his memories run away with him. Actually, he tried his hardest to keep certain thoughts and feelings locked away in a drawer in the far corner of his mind. There, locked in that drawer, they couldn't hurt him…they couldn't cause any damage.

Dean Winchester had learned a long time before that memories couldn't be out run.

But there, at that moment, memories flooded his consciousness. In his mind's eye was a five year old Sam, making a running jump at his bed and then snuggling into his older brother's lap…the refreshing smell of his recently washed hair, still damp from his nightly bath…how he'd fit perfectly against Dean's chest, his weight the most comforting and reassuring feeling in Dean's world.

The way Sam had always grinned the second Dean had cracked the spine of new Curious George book.

The five year old who'd followed Dean around for years with worshipping eyes had changed in probably a thousand ways as he'd grown up. Sam was now taller, stronger and more muscular; a man who was more than capable of defending himself. He'd graduated from girls having cooties and milk, to steady girlfriends and beer.

But that had never mattered, and it never would. It didn't matter how tall Sam got or how much weight he could bench press. He'd always be the little brother and it would always be Dean's job to stand in between Sam and the rest of the world. To be the shield between Sam and everything else, supernatural or otherwise.

It was a job he took seriously and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

As far as Dean was concerned, being a big brother was the coolest job in the world.

It had it's perks; he could tease Sam relentlessly and without mercy…he always had someone to talk to those evenings when he _thought_ he'd rather be alone, but deep down, talking things out was the only thing that would make him feel better. He had someone to protect, someone to look after.

Dean had always been better at _loving_ unconditionally than being _loved_.

He started slightly as his army issue duffel bag was gently set in his lap, Bobby letting go of the handles and looking down to meet his eyes. "Go for an hour."

"You're freakin' persistent, Bobby."

"Yeah, well."

The younger man sighed and leaned forward slowly in his seat, raking a hand shakily through his hair. "If I go…"

"Yeah?"

"If somethin' were to happen." Dean started shaking his head, letting out a breath. "I gotta be here."

"I doubt anythin' is gonna happen in an hour."

"Look, uh-" Standing from his chair, Dean started towards the door. "Stay with him for a minute, I'll be right back."

After a quick affirmative nod from Bobby, Dean pulled open the door and stepped out into the brightly lit hallway. The ICU was just as quiet as ever. It was just after 6:30 in the morning and there were three nurses talking quietly at the nurse's station; Dean made his way over and gently cleared his throat as he got closer. All three nurses he recognized and they all seemed to recognize him, too, sending him warm smiles the closer he got.

"Good morning, Mr. Sobel."

Dean nodded and returned the smile as best he could. "Morning ladies." He cleared his throat again. "I was just wondering what time Dr. Hogarth gets in today?"

The nurse sitting at the far desk, Megan, increased the wattage of her smile just slightly. "He'll be in at eight."

"Is something wrong, Dean?"

Looking from face to face, Dean shook his head. "No, nothin' like that. I was just gonna head out for an hour or so to get cleaned up…had a couple questions for him."

Robin, another nurse sitting behind the desk, stood from her chair. "I'm actually Sam's nurse for today, I was just about to come in and check on him."

"Oh, ok."

Making her way around the desk, she fell into step beside Dean as they started down the hallway. "I heard from his night nurse that he had a good night?"

Dean focused his eyes on the sickeningly shiny linoleum floors as they walked. "I guess. He was the same last night as he was yesterday…and the day before that-"

Robin nodded sympathetically. "I know it's difficult. But sometimes, no change is a good thing."

Dean couldn't find the energy to answer.

As far as he was concerned, change was the _best_ thing. Change would see Sam awake, change would see Sam talking and moving…

_No_ change kept Sam in that God forsaken bed.

Dean made it to the door first and pulled it open, motioning Robin inside. She sent him another smile and walked into the room with a purpose; Bobby, who was still standing at the end of the bed, watched slightly wide eyed as the duo walked in.

Robin approached Sam's bed and immediately started checking the set up.

As was her usual routine, she pulled a small pen light from the pocket of her shirt and clicked it on, shining it into each of Sam's eyes in turn.

Dean desperately tried to study her reaction, but frustratingly enough, there was nothing to study. She was focused and completely stoic.

Next, she moved to Sam's heart monitor. A long piece of paper was protruding from the machine, long enough to trail to the floor; Robin picked it up and examined it carefully, making small markings on the paper with a pen.

"How's he lookin'?"

Robin glanced up at him for a quick second. "Everything looks normal. His pupils are reacting to stimulation and his EKG looks steady."

Dean nodded and swallowed hard. "So…he should be ok for a bit?" She met his eyes. "I mean, if I head out for an hour or so?"

Dean was immediately embarrassed. Understanding and sympathy flooded Robin's eyes and she gently nodded her head, speaking in a soft voice. "Yes, Dean, he'll be fine. The doctor will be in soon, it's ok."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "He's ok."

Feeling like a twelve year old, Dean carefully bent and picked up his duffel bag. Robin was once again lost in what she was doing and Dean took the opportunity to talk quietly with Bobby. "Anything happens, call me."

"I will."

"I don't care what it is, you hear me?"

Bobby nodded. "I will."

"The doctor's comin' in at eight, I'll be back just before that."

"Yeah, ok. You still got the key I gave you?"

Dean nodded silently and swallowed hard. With one last, long look at his baby brother, he sent a quick wave to Robin and moved towards the door.

The sound of Sam's heart monitor—no longer muted—followed him out into the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **So in the very first chapter, I said I wasn't sure how long this story was going to be. To be honest, I don't think I'm ready to end it yet, so there are still another couple chapters coming at some point. Thanks again to everyone who's left reviews; I appreciate it so much! Once again, this is on the shorter side.

And also, to Just A Fan; since I can't reply directly to you, I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful review :o)

**Disclaimer:** You know the story -- Eric Kripke owns them, we all wish we did. But we don't. I'm just playing in the sandbox.

*******************

"_Sammy, come on-"_

"_Dean, I can't do it."_

"_Just be easy and step out-"_

"_I can't do it!"_

_Dean let out a sigh and pushed himself towards his distressed eight-year-old baby brother, darting around other people and swinging himself into a quick stop. A wave of ice shot up from the blade of his skate, covering the legs of Sam's jeans._

_Sam made a face and all Dean could do was grin._

_The skating rink thankfully wasn't that busy. It was, after all, mid-afternoon on a Monday. _

_John Winchester had left their small room early Saturday morning, promising to be back the following evening. Neither Sam nor Dean was all that surprised when he called to tell them he was going to be late, and cabin fever had set in quickly. _

_A solution had presented itself in the form of the kind and portly hotel owner who'd told Dean about the daily public skate at the tiny arena only a few minutes walk from the hotel parking lot. For only two dollars each—the woman at the arena hadn't charged them for borrowing skates—they were allowed on the ice for a solid hour. _

_Dean had been excited._

_Sam was terrified._

_He took a firm grip of Sam's arm and motioned to the semi-crowded skating rink. "It's easy."_

"_What if I fall?"_

_Dean's first thought had been to laugh, but the expression of pure misery on his little brother's face made a warm and sympathetic feeling stir in his stomach. He smiled gently and shook his head. "Come on, dude…do you really think I'd let you fall?"_

_Sam looked around, tugging at the edge of his oversized hand-me-down hooded sweater anxiously. "I dunno."_

"_I promise I won't let you fall, ok?" _

_Dean squeezed Sam's arm in brotherly reassurance._

_Sam looked up and met Dean's eyes nervously. After only a few seconds hesitation, the little guy nodded and swallowed hard. "Ok."_

_Hiding the fact that he felt the warm and fuzzies stir again at his little brother's unabashed trust, Dean nodded and slid backwards only a few inches, allowing a small space for Sam to step onto the ice. "Just…take it easy."_

"_Don't let go."_

"_I won't."_

_Sam lifted one foot and gingerly stepped out onto the ice. "Don't let go!"_

"_I said I wouldn't." Dean motioned to Sam's other foot, which still sat firmly planted off the ice. "Other foot, kiddo."_

_Sam nodded tightly and brought his other foot out onto the ice. Noticing his discomfort, Dean took hold of Sam's other arm and gently squeezed. "You're good."_

_With both skates now firmly on the ice, Sam looked up at his older brother expectantly. "Ok-" He said matter-of-factly. "Now what?"_

_Dean almost laughed again._

"_I'm gonna start movin' backwards, ok?"_

"_Dean-"_

"_You're fine." _

_With the slightest movement, Dean started to slowly push himself backwards, his grip still firm on Sam's arms._

_For the first few minutes Dean pulled Sam along the surface of the ice. As Sam's comfort level grew he timidly started to push himself, carefully moving his skates and working to gain speed._

_Eventually, with only fifteen minutes left in the public skate, Sam felt comfortable enough for Dean to let go. _

_He looked hilarious as he moved away from Dean's protective hold, his upper body leaning forward half-hazardly in a instinctual move to keep himself from falling backwards._

_After moving away a few feet, he turned and grinned at Dean over his shoulder. _

_Dean couldn't help but grin back, letting out a bright shout of encouragement. _

**

The nearly scalding shower water cascaded down Dean's back, ran through his hair and dripped down his face. With his hands braced into the shower wall, he leaned forward and let out a long, slow breath.

He could feel the tense and bunched muscles in his back loosening with the even spray of the water.

Needless to say? Three days sitting, sleeping and living in an uncomfortable plastic chair was murder on the deltoids.

But every minute of it was worth it. There was absolutely no doubt whatsoever in Dean's mind that Sam was suffering more than he was, and if Sam was being made to suffer, Dean didn't want to be offered any comforts, either.

The motel, thankfully, really _was_ only a few minutes from the hospital. Even though he hadn't had anything to do with booking the room, Dean felt a small sharp pain in his chest when he walked through the door and spotted the two double beds. He had wished more than anything that Sam had been following behind him with his duffel bag in hand; he wished that they had spent time arguing over the shower; and he wished that Sam could be there when he emerged from the bathroom.

Attempting to stop that train of thought before his emotions really _did_ get the best of him, Dean reached down and turned off the water.

He slowly shuffled out of the bathroom only a few minutes later with a large brown towel wrapped snugly around his waist. The air was cold and he felt goosebumps rise on his arms.

Despite the fact that he was alone in the room, he'd set his duffel bag down onto the bed closest to the door as soon as he'd walked in. _Old habits die hard._

Walking around to the far side of the bed, Dean quickly unzipped his duffel and started rummaging around inside. For the first time in what felt like years, every single article of clothing he owned was freshly washed and clean.

Pulling out a pair of boxers and a pair of black sweatpants, he slipped them on, tossed his towel to the foot of the bed and set his bag down onto the floor.

Dean's entire body was screaming at him for sleep. Now that his muscles were soothed and loose from the hot water, he was practically sagging.

The relief he felt as he lowered himself down onto the bed was almost painful in and of itself.

Thankful that he'd already set the alarm on his phone for 7:30, Dean closed his eyes and forced himself to relax for a quick—and much needed—thirty-minute sleep.

****

Walking into Sam's room just a few minutes before eight o'clock, Dean wasn't at all surprised to find Bobby snoring softly in the chair beside Sam's bed. The older hunter's baseball cap was slightly askew, his jacket being used as a blanket.

Dean felt a rush of affection as he studied Bobby's still form.

Whenever Sam or Dean called—no matter how serious or ridiculous their situation was—Bobby always came running. He had the experience and the resources to solve damn near every problem, as far as hunts were concerned; and he had the warmth and concern to solve almost every personal problem, as well.

When Dean hadn't been able to get in touch with his dad, Bobby had been the first person he'd thought of. While it was true that John Winchester and Bobby had had a fairly serious falling out years before—when Dean and Sam had been kids—Dean knew without a doubt that Bobby would do all in his power to help in any way he could.

He loved Sam like a son, and that made Bobby a bit of alright in Dean's book.

Even if the older man _had_ threatened their father with a loaded shotgun.

As quietly as he could, Dean shed his dark blue jacket and gently laid it down at the foot of Sam's bed. His hand had brushed up against Sam's blanket-covered leg, and as if it was almost an instinctual response to the contact, Dean's eyes flashed up to his little brother's face.

Bobby had been right earlier that morning; there was definitely more color in Sam's cheeks.

Feeling an upsurge of positivity Dean made his way to the side of Sam's bed and leaned forward, resting his arms on the raised bedrail.

As he'd done so many times over those four days, Dean studied every detail of Sam's face. He knew them all by heart—had for years—but it was calming and reassuring that it was _Sam_.

He knew that Sam was in there. It was just a question of waiting for him to find his way. And for that? Dean had all the time in the world.

"Dean?"

Looking over to Bobby's chair, Dean watched as the other man adjusted his lopsided baseball cap and sat up straight. "Hey, Bobby."

"How long you been here?"

"Just a few minutes."

Bobby let out an enormous yawn and immediately started studying Dean's face—as if to check for relief or proof of rest. Obviously satisfied with what he saw in Dean's cleanly shaven countenance, he smiled. "You look better."

Dean nodded, his eyes going back to his brother. "Feel better."

"That pretty nurse that was in here this morning? She came in around 7:30, said that the doctor made it in early. Just had to check the rotation and then he'd be by."

"I haven't missed him?"

"No, not yet."

"How would you know? You were sleepin' like a friggin' log."

Bobby arched an eyebrow. "Hey, I may've fallen asleep, but I would've heard him come in. Gimme some credit."

Dean felt himself smile just slightly.

Without the slightest hesitation, he reached a hand forward and gently grasped Sam's fingers. His brother's skin was still cold—unnaturally so—but the color in his face was enough to bring about a feeling of relief. At least it was something.

"Nothin' happened while I was gone?"

Bobby slowly shook his head. "Nurse came in to check the IV, that's about it."

Swallowing hard, Dean said, "Thanks for stayin'."

"Don't be thankin' me for somethin' like that. There's no reason."

Dean swallowed hard again, a strange tightness entering into his throat. Almost as if he was longing for some brotherly reassurance of his own, he gently squeezed Sam's fingers. It was his silent way of saying _I'm here waiting, Sammy._

If he hadn't been hoping for it…if he hadn't been begging with everything he had for it…Dean probably wouldn't have noticed.

It was almost imperceptible.

But it was the big brother in him that felt it.

Sam had unconsciously given a small squeeze back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone! Once again, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, PMs and e-mails. I appreciate each and every one :o) Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. Eric Kripke does. Lucky bum.

****************

Dean cleared his throat nervously, but excitedly, as he and Sam's doctor huddled together quietly in the hallway outside Sam's room.

It was just after 8:15 and Dean's heart had been pounding in his throat for nearly half an hour.

Sam had squeezed his hand.

His baby brother, his Sammy, had finally shown the smallest signs of life. In a perfect world, he would've opened his eyes, grinned and said Dean's name; but unfortunately, Dean Winchester wasn't living in a perfect world.

So he'd take whatever Sam was capable of giving.

Dr. Hogarth smiled gently, flipping through the enormous chart he held in his hands. "He squeezed your hand, this is incredibly positive."

Dean nodded tightly. "Does it mean he's wakin' up?"

"It could mean any number of things."

"Such as?"

"My first thought is that it's something called _reactivity_." The doctor explained in a soft voice, meeting Dean's eyes intensely. "This concept basically refers to the natural functions of the human brain; twitching in the eyes, responses to pain…sometimes a patient will turn their head in the direction of familiar sound-"

"But Sam _squeezed_ my _hand_."

"Yes, it's very common for coma patients to move or make sounds…some openly display signs of agitation. It varies from patient to patient as functionality increases."

Dean swallowed hard, desperately trying to keep up. "So…that, in there, could've just been Sam reacting on instinct?"

The doctor nodded.

Dean had liked Dr. Hogarth right from the start. While some doctors threw around nothing but medical mumbo-jumbo, Hogarth knew and understood a lone older brother's need to completely understand; he was tolerant and kind, taking the time needed to put Dean at ease as much as possible. Dean was grateful.

Hogarth softened his voice even more. "The easiest way for me to explain this? Right now, as I said, Sam is showing signs of _reactivity._ In order for a person to come out of a comatose state, two things need to happen; one, a patient needs to show signs of reactivity-"

"Which you said Sam does."

"Yes he does."

"And the second thing?"

"Second, a patient needs to display signs of _perceptivity_, which basically means that the nervous system has rebooted itself and has started reacting to previously learned stimuli."

"Like what?"

Releasing a slow breath, Hogarth said, "Language…communication skills, natural reaction. For example, the instictual flinch that occurs after a loud jolt of sound. Shivering when feeling cold. Laughter, excitement…even something as simple as goosebumps would be signs of a newly reactive nervous system."

"Is Sam doin' any of that stuff?"

"So far we've only seen signs of reactivity-"

Dean couldn't help but sigh dejectedly.

Hogarth shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "Don't start feeling negative, Dean, this is incredibly good news. When one starts, the other usually isn't too far behind. I wouldn't be surprised if he started showing signs either tonight or early tomorrow."

Dean dared to hope and he swallowed hard. "Really?"

"It's long and it's tedious, I know, but when a patient is in a state similar to Sam, any type of reaction is an enormous step in the right direction."

Raking a hand through his short hair, Dean swallowed hard again. "So he could be awake by tonight?"

Hogarth sighed gently. "In my _medical opinion_? Judging from past histories of other patients similar to your brother? I would say the chances are good. You're going to have to stick by him; talk to him, touch him, let him know you're here. It's going to take time…and a whole lotta patience."

Patience had never…_ever_… been Dean's forte.

**********

"So, all in all, the report was a good one."

Dean nodded slowly, letting out a breath. "Yeah, I guess. Doc says it's good news, so…"

"Like I said, he's a tough kid."

Turning slowly from his position near the window, Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, slowly walking back toward Sam's bed. "Yeah, I know."

"And look at it this way, at least you _know_ now that he's gonna be alright. That's a big change from last night."

"But it still makes me nervous, Bobby—I mean, _look_ at him-" He leaned down and rested his arms on the newly raised bedrail. "I can't stand seein' him so still."

"Yeah, but the doc says he's in the home stretch now. Just keep your head on straight."

"I know."

"You gotta keep patient."

Dean snorted quietly. "You know me, Bobby, I'm not a patient kinda guy…not when it comes to stuff like this."

All Bobby did was nod.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, the older man shifted in his seat and cleared his throat; Dean automatically looked at him with raised eyebrows. "So I've been meanin' to ask you…"

"Ask me what?"

The awkward expression on Bobby's face was almost painful, even from across the room. "Have you tried callin' your daddy again at all?"

At first, the mention of his father left Dean feeling absolutely nothing; no reaction, no emotion. But as Bobby's question hung in the air, the emotions came barreling into Dean's consciousness with a vengeance.

And they were anything but positive.

"No, Bobby."

"Dean-"

"I said…_no_." Dean narrowed his eyes, his usually rich and deep voice was sounding more and more like a menacing growl. "I'm not callin' him again."

"Maybe if _I _tried-"

"You think that'd make a difference?" Dean shook his head, releasing an angry breath. "I've called him a thousand times, nothin' but voicemail. Hell, I don't even know if he gets his messages."

"He's your father, Dean. You and Sam are his boys. He should be here."

"And if he gave a rat's ass, he _would_ be here."

Judging from the expression on Bobby's face, Dean's angry reaction had been surprising. Incredibly surprising.

Dean Winchester had never been one to take crap. It wasn't in his programming to be a door mat…it wasn't entrenched in his psyche to be stepped on or swept under the rug. He didn't know how to be those things.

Sam had given him continuous crap over the years for always being the _good little soldier_, always following daddy's orders and doing what he was told. It was a routine that Dean was used to and the rules were simple; follow the orders and the family stays safe. _Sammy_ stays safe. As an older brother—a man marked for a life of shielding and protecting—keeping his baby brother safe was his top priority. If that meant following crap orders from a man who knew more about barking than parenting? So be it.

Sam had never understood that. He'd never even bothered to try.

Part of following the rules meant keeping their dad on a pedestal. John Winchester had always been thought to be a superhero, a man who kicked ass and took names on a regular basis. Dean had always been proud of who his father was.

It had never occurred to him that his dad wouldn't drop everything and come running with Sam as far gone as he was.

Dean's life had always been full of rude shocks; the reality about where they stood with their own father was just another one to add to the constantly growing pile.

"You shouldn't talk 'bout him like that, kid, you know he loves you boys-"

"Then where is he?" Dean's voice was now dangerously matter-of-fact, as if he were venomously talking about the weather or the latest sports statistics on ESPN. "I called him, damn near _begged_ him to come to Boston. He _never_ called back and he _never_ showed up."

"Dammit, Dean."

"He doesn't wanna be here, that's not our problem. We're doin' ok."

Bobby sighed helplessly and made a face, leaning back heavily in his chair. "Yeah…I know you are."

It was the last time the older hunter mentioned John Winchester.

***

_The tennis ball impacted the brick wall violently, immediately bouncing off and rebounding back into the worn leather of Dean's over-used baseball glove._

_The parking lot of the motel was completely deserted except for the small hatchback P.O.S. that the owner drove. Judging from the gurgling sound that emanated from under the rusted hood whenever she started it, Dean had surmised that the little car was on it's last legs. _

_It made him wish for the beautiful throaty rumble of his dad's car._

_His dad._

_If it were possible, his mood dropped another ten thousand points. _

_The tennis ball impacted the wall again. _

"_Dean?"_

_The little voice drew Dean's attention and he turned to look, his eyes falling on the awkward face of his baby brother. Sammy, in all his ten-year-old glory, stood there with his own baseball glove gripped tightly in his small hands. _

_Dean sighed. "What the hell are you doin' out here?"_

"_Just…wanted to know where you went."_

"_Yeah, well, you found me."_

_The rancor in Dean's voice didn't go unnoticed and Sam's eyes immediately dropped to the broken and stained pavement. His long and floppy bangs fell into his eyes, effectively shielding him as he spoke quietly. "Can I stay out here with you?"_

"_You're supposed to stay in the room."_

"_I'm supposed to stay wherever you are-"_

"_Dammit Sam, I don't want you hangin' around right now."_

_Sam shifted awkwardly. "What's wrong, Dean?"_

"_What's wrong? Right now you're what's wrong, you're pissin' me off."_

_When Sam raised his head, Dean couldn't help but see the teary shine in his eyes. The anger that was burning in Dean's chest started to cool just slightly. _

_In a newly shaky voice, all Sam said was, "Ok.", before turning and starting back towards their room, his baseball glove hanging loosely in his hand. _

_And as easily as that, Dean's anger now completely disappeared._

_He felt like the world's biggest jerk._

_Letting out a sigh he started after his little brother, walking into the cool shade of their small room only a minute after Sam. _

_He spotted him right away, lying on his bed on his side, his back to where Dean stood in the door. Looking closely, Dean could make out the gentle shake of Sam's shoulder._

_The kid was crying._

_Dean sighed again and pushed the door closed, tossing his baseball glove down onto the other bed. He then walked over to Sam's bed and very carefully sat himself down on the edge. "Sammy?" He wasn't expecting an answer, so he wasn't overly surprised when Sam said nothing. "Look, Sammy, I'm sorry, ok?"_

_Sam sniffled quietly. "Why are you so mad at me?"_

_Dean's heart clenched. "Dude, I'm not mad…not at you, anyway."_

"_Who are you mad at?"_

"_Dad."_

_That finally got Sam's attention. The little guy sniffled again and then slowly rolled back, turning his head and looking at Dean over his shoulder. His face was red and tear-stained. "Dad?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Why?"_

_Pulling his eyes from his brother's, Dean shrugged and motioned around the room. "I'm sick of bein' left behind all the time. I just…wanted us to stay together, is all."_

"_Really?"_

_Dean nodded and then watched as Sam pushed himself into a sitting position; sitting cross-legged, they were only a few inches apart. Sam raised a hand and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. Dean cringed. "Eww, that's gross, dude." Grabbing a tissue from the box on the bedside table, Dean passed it over. "You're gonna get snot all over your shirt."_

_Holding the tissue under his nose, Sam looked slightly ashamed. "Sorry."_

_Once again faced with his baby brother, Dean felt his heart clench all over again. He really was the world's biggest jerk. "I'm sorry, Sammy." He nearly whispered, dipping his head down to get Sam's attention; Sam met his eyes, his expression still miserable. "I didn't mean it, ok?"_

"_Promise?"_

_Dean smiled gently. "Yeah, I promise."_

"_I don't want you to be mad, Dean."_

_In an action that made Dean want to laugh and cry at such a blatant display of innocence, Sam jutted out his lower lip; which, in true little brother fashion, immediately started trembling._

_Dean frowned. "Hey, no fair-" He raised a finger and tenderly poked Sam's lip. "Put that back."_

_Without a single word, Sam un-crossed his legs and scooted across the bed, snuggling himself up against his older brother's side. _

_All Dean could do was wrap an arm around Sam's small shoulders and pull him close, pressing his face into the mess of dark chocolate brown hair. _

_***_

Dean smiled to himself, discreetly trying to hide the sudden moisture pooling in his eyes. He reached down and ran his fingers through Sam's thick hair.

Yeah, they didn't need John Winchester.

They had each other.

They were going to be just fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Ok so the prediction I made about only a couple of chapters is completely shot lol I'm having way too much fun writing this one! Thanks again for all of the wonderful reviews, each and every one means the world to me. Hope you like this one :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own either Sammy or Dean. But if Eric Kripke ever feels like unloading them, hey, I'd be MORE than happy to help him out.

*****************

"So your doctor told me I should try talkin' to you."

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling the plastic chair as close to Sam's bed as possible.

It was just the two of them—Bobby having gone to the hotel himself for a shower and sleep—and Dean couldn't help but be thankful that he and Sam were alone. His emotions were raw and exposed as it was, he could only imagine the mess he'd be after attempting to follow the doctor's orders. An experience like that was better kept between brothers.

Talking to Sam's unconscious form was something he'd done countless times over the years. When they were kids and Sam was in the throws of a nightmare, Dean would slide from his own bed and crouch down beside his brother, whispering soothing words and reassurances until the frown lines in Sam's face smoothed back into dreamless sleep.

But that, right there, was the difference.

That was _sleep._

This wasn't.

"Doc says that sometimes…people in comas can hear voices, y'know? Conversations. Guess it makes sense if you think about it."

Sam remained unmoving; the only change was the timed rise and fall of his chest.

"Bobby Singer's here." Dean blurted suddenly, swallowing hard. "Showed up last night. He's sat with you a few times, don't know if you noticed.

"I uh…I tried callin' dad. Got his machine, left a message. Haven't heard back yet, so…I dunno-" Dean chuckled quietly and bitterly, his eyes travelling down to Sam's still hand on top of the blanket. He shook his head. "I don't know if he's gonna make it, but uh…we'll talk more about it when you wake up."

Dean felt as if his throat was closing up and he struggled to swallow. There was moisture in his eyes but his voice was surprisingly calm as he continued.

"You know what I was thinkin' about? Remember when we were kids—you couldn't have been more than eight—and we were stayin' in that crap motel a couple hours outside Memphis? I took you skating."

He laughed gently, while at the same time, wiping at his eyes. "Man, you were terrified the whole damn time. Took me forever to get you out on the ice. I remember the woman didn't charge us for usin' skates, and they were these crappy…second-hand hockey skates. Mine were too big and yours had stickers all over 'em."

Dean laughed again; he was sure his heart had grown two sizes.

He nodded his head absently. "Yeah, I remember that."

Dean Winchester had never been one for emotional times or tearful conversations.

He was used to shutting himself off and dealing with his feelings on his own. Chick-flick moments and emotion didn't mean the same things to Dean that they meant to Sam.

But then, Dean had been raised by a much colder parent.

Sam believed whole-heartedly that when you felt something, no matter what it was, it was usually in your best interests to talk about it. Get it off your chest and give your family—or more specifically, your little brother—the chance to help you work through it.

Dean was the opposite.

If Sam needed to talk about something, absolutely, Dean would oblige. Even though he might internally cringe and fight against his natural instinct to push it away. But _his own_ feelings were different. His own feelings were kept locked up and secured; the older brother wasn't supposed to spout off and get emotional…he was supposed to comfort and protect the little brother while _he_ did it.

But since, at that moment, there was no way to comfort his little brother, Dean's emotions were bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

"This is really hard, Sammy." He said quietly, his voice finally breaking just slightly. "I really need you-"

Dean cut off instantly as the door to the room slowly opened; Megan, one of the nurses, poked her head in. "Dean?"

Nodding and angrily wiping at his eyes, he nodded. "Yeah."

"I have to check a few things with Sam, do you mind just stepping out for a few minutes?"

In actuality, the last thing in the world Dean wanted to do was step out. He hated leaving Sam's side at the best of times; the draw to stay with his little brother at _that_ moment was almost stifling. "How long?"

"Just a few minutes, I promise."

He pushed himself from his chair and took a deep breath, sending a quick nod to Megan as he past her.

"You're more then welcome to wait in the doctor's lounge if you want."

"Where's that?"

She smiled gently. "Go out the door and to the right? Pass the nurses' station and it'll be the second door on the left. It's marked _"private"._"

"And I can go in there?"

"I'm officially giving you permission."

Dean recognized the flirting for what it was and tried his very best to offer her a smile. It wasn't very often that he passed up an enticing conversation with an attractive woman but his mind and his attention were completely devoted to Sam. "Appreciate it."

Her interested smile followed him as he left the room.

Dean managed to find the doctor's lounge without any trouble but just as he was about to push the door open, he decided against it. After all, the nurse had promised she'd only be a few minutes in Sam's room. Why get comfortable when it wasn't where he wanted to be?

Letting out a long breath, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and wandered aimlessly a little ways down the hallway. The soles of his hiking boots squeaked irritatingly against the immaculately clean floors; the sound was distracting in the silence.

That's one of the countless reasons Dean hated hospitals. The expected and reinforced silence.

_That_, and the butcher paper some doctors pulled across their exam tables.

Hospitals were places where too many people went in, but not enough came out.

***

_The free clinic was just a few minutes walk from their hotel and Dean had held little Sammy's hand the entire way there._

_Sam was completely miserable as the pair shuffled down the sidewalk together. His constantly running nose, his red and scratchy eyes, his achy arms and sore legs. The flu had taken hold only two days before and since the brothers were scheduled to be alone for at least another day and a half, Dean had decided the time to take action had arrived._

"_Dean, I don't feel too good."_

_He ruffled Sam's hair gently. "I know, kiddo. Almost there."_

_They walked a little but further. _

"_Do you think the doctor'll help me?"_

"_Yeah, sure he will. He's a doctor, that's what he does."_

"_Will dad be mad that we left the room?"_

_Sam's voice was raspy and his slow walk was enough to make even Dean feel terrible. Letting out a small sigh, the older boy stopped walking and moved to stand directly in front of Sam before lowering himself into a crouch. _

_Sam, for his part, looked politely bemused. "What are you doin'?"_

"_Climb on."_

"_What?"_

"_You're sick, you can barely walk, I'm gonna carry you the rest of the way." Dean looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with his pale-faced little brother. "Seriously dude, come on."_

_Sniffling slightly and wiping his runny nose on his shirt sleeve, Sam approached Dean from behind and carefully situated himself on his back. _

_Even though he would never admit it out loud, as soon as Sam's hands locked around his neck, Dean instantly felt better. Sam's weight was comforting, it always had been. It was a silent reassurance that the little eight-year-old was healthy and well…a silent reassurance that Dean was doing something right. _

_With his hands firmly gripping the backs of Sam's knees—and with Sam's tight hold around his neck—Dean carefully stood from his crouch and once again started walking. _

"_You get mucus on the back of my neck, Sammy, and I swear to God I'll drop you."_

"_Don't drop me!"_

"_Then don't get boogers on me."_

_Dean then heard Sam sniff pointedly and he couldn't help but smile. _

_The clinic was quiet as Dean somehow managed to magician his way through the door with Sam still snugly against his back. The woman sitting behind the reception desk widened her eyes at the sight of the two brothers approaching. "Can I help you boys?"_

"_Yeah," Nodding his head back towards Sam, who's chin was resting tiredly on his shoulder, Dean said, "My little brother's got the flu or somethin', can anyone see him?"_

"_Of course." She smiled and set a clipboard up on the counter. "Just fill those out and someone will see him soon."_

_Dean turned slightly and as if they'd done it a thousand times before, Sam unclasped one arm from around Dean's neck and reached down to grab the clipboard, allowing Dean to keep a firm hold on the backs of his knees. _

_The woman looked concerned. "Do you boys have a parent with you or a guardian of some kind?"_

_Neither showed any surprise or nervousness at being asked such a question. They'd been asked before and Dean was sure they'd be asked again. _

_The lie came effortlessly._

"_Our dad is at work, I'm off school today so I'm bringin' him."_

"_But your father knows you're here?" _

_Dean nodded and gave the back of Sam's right knee a reassuring squeeze. He knew that Sam hated the lies and half-truths that Dean was so unbelievably good at telling. With Dean's smoothness and charm, coupled with Sam's sheer cuteness and puppy-dog eyes, the pair was invincible. _

_Together, they were able to turn any adult into complete mush. It was something Dean was especially proud of._

_Sam always felt guilty about it._

_The receptionist gave a warm but concerned smile and Dean took the opportunity. He turned and walked into the waiting area before carefully leaning back just far enough for Sam to effortlessly slide down onto his feet. _

_They sat down in the uncomfortably cushioned chairs; Sam's feet swinging back and forth, too short to touch the ground…while Dean leaned forward and rested the clipboard on his legs._

_A pen dangled from the clipboard on a thin white string and Dean sighed, looking down at the forms. _

"_Ok, name-" Dean pulled the cap off the pen and poised to write. "Nerdy McNerderton-"_

_Sam's eyes widened. "Don't write that!"_

_The older boy laughed and started filling in the blanks on the form. The minutes passed in comfortable silence, Sam moving closer and closer to Dean's arm until his head was resting against it exhaustedly. _

***

Dean was sure he was losing his mind.

Well, either losing his mind or completely lost in his memories.

He was standing in front of a pop machine only a few feet from Sam's door, and for the life of him he couldn't remember if he put money in it or not. Shaking his head at himself he let out a breath. _I'm not even thirsty._

"Dean?"

Turning to the source of the voice, Dean's eyes widened; Megan was looking out at him from inside Sam's room and she was grinning from ear to ear.

Dean didn't even need to ask. He instinctively knew.

Without a word to the young nurse, he pushed his way into the room and practically ran up to Sam's bed. Sam's eyes were still closed but his brow was furrowed just slightly. The younger man's hand was also flexing weakly, as if such a small movement was Sam's equivalent of running a marathon; he was fighting his way back.

Without the slightest hesitation, Dean reached down and took a gentle but firm hold of the moving hand. "Sammy?"

Dean could feel the nurse's presence just behind him but he completely ignored her. He only had eyes for his brother.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?"

With the breathing tube still firmly in his throat, the gentle moan that accompanied the slow fluttering of Sam's eyes sounded incredibly raw and painful. Dean leaned closer and watched, ready to burst, as the smallest sliver of hazel appeared beneath Sam's darkly tinted eyelids.

Dean grinned and he knew he was instantly crying. He didn't care about showing emotion or maintaining any kind of image; Sam was awake…those heartbreakingly familiar eyes were locked on his for the first time in days.

"Hey, kiddo." He whispered gently, squeezing Sam's hand.

Despite the breathing tube and despite the tape holding it in place, the corners of Sam's mouth twitched, revealing the very first true Sammy smile.

Dimples and all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Here's chapter 6! I'm so sorry that this is so incredibly short, but as I was writing it, it just seemed like the perfect place to end the chapter. The next one is already half-written, so it should be posted tomorrow (or with extreme luck, sometime tonight lol). Thanks to absolutely everyone who's left a review, as well as to everyone who's read this story. The responses have been amazing and it means the world to me. Thank you so much!

PS...A HUGE hug goes out to both sammygirl1963 and bylvie for their never-ending support and encouragement. You ladies make my day with every review and e-mail you send. Thank you! :o)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sammy or Dean. I'm just playing with them for a bit. I'll try to return them to Eric Kripe just as I found them, but I'm not promising anything.

*********************

_Dean let out a sigh, pushing his sunglasses to rest further up the bridge of his nose. The humidity was almost like a second skin as he sat there in the driver's seat of the Impala, waiting somewhat impatiently for the final bell to ring at McClellan Magnet High School._

_The three Winchesters had just crossed into their second week staying in Little Rock, Arkansas. The Shapeshifter had only been ended late the night before, and Dean, for his part, was completely exhausted. _

_Being thrown into a wall by an eighty-year-old woman with super strength was enough to completely wear both him—and his ego—out. Not to mention he was bruised three ways from Sunday, his shoulder was still feeling funny, and he was sure he'd left a vital part of his anatomy on the cement floor of the sewer. _

_Sam on the other hand had absolutely refused to miss a day of classes. He'd ranted and raved for nearly an hour and a half that since they'd be leaving town in only a few short days, he wanted to complete as much work as he could. _

_Dean nearly cringed._

_Sam wasn't going to be happy when he found out they were in fact leaving Little Rock that very night._

_Let the games begin._

_The only indication that Dean got that classes had ended was the tidal wave of students that suddenly poured from the front doors and flooded down the steps. _

_Deciding to take part in one of his favorite pastimes—girl watching—Dean threw open the door of the Impala and slid out. He took a deep breath as he rounded the front end of the car, situating himself casually against the hood in between the headlights. _

_From there, he had a perfect view of the doors and the steps, great for spotting Sammy __**and**__ for watching the absolutely gorgeous girls who walked by._

_Spring was Dean's favorite month of the year. _

_The pants went away and the mini-skirts came out._

_He was so mesmerized by the absolutely delicious expression on the face of a pretty brunette walking by him that he didn't notice his little brother's arrival at his side. _

"_Y'know, you are unbelievable."_

_Dean smiled as he and Sam locked eyes. "Very true."_

"_What the hell are you doing out here?"_

"_I'm scoping."_

"_Scoping?"_

"_Yeah…and lemme tell you-" Another girl walked by in a short skirt. "Whoever invented the skirt was an absolute genius."_

_Sam sighed. "Dean-"_

"_Where have those legs been, baby, my god-"_

"_Dean!"_

_Snapping out of it, Dean swallowed hard and once again met Sam's eyes. "What?"_

_Looking completely unimpressed, Sam said, "If you wanna stay and eyeball, gimme the keys and I'll come get you later."_

"_Right, and did you get your license when I wasn't lookin'?"_

"_Shut up."_

_Dean nodded quickly, letting out a breath. "You need to take the time for the simple pleasures in life, Sammy."_

"_It's Sam."_

"_I mean, come on…so many legs, so little time."_

_Sam sighed. "Can we get outta here, please?"_

"_What's the rush?"_

"_I have a crap load of homework to get done for first period tomorrow, **that's** the rush."_

"_Y'know, you are the world's biggest nerd-"_

"_Oh be quiet-"_

"_Healthy sixteen-year-old and you're concerned about __**homework**_-" _Dean shook his head and clapped Sam on the shoulder before walking around to the driver's side. "Hell, Sammy, start actin' your hormonal driven age, would you?"_

"_My name is __**Sam.**__" He slid into the passenger seat, turning to watch as his brother slid in behind the wheel. "And y'know, just because I don't drool over every two-legged female in the Northern Hemisphere like you do, that doesn't mean that I'm a nerd."_

"_Yeah, it totally does."_

"_It does not."_

_The throaty rumble of the Impala, along with the blast of Metallica, quickly put an end to any further brotherly arguing._

***

Dean was pacing.

He was pacing, and he _had_ been pacing for close to half an hour.

Practically a minute after Sam had opened his eyes, Dr. Hogarth and about four nurses had completely taken over the room, effectively—but gently—escorting Dean out to the hallway. And there he'd stayed; his face occasionally pressing against the glass of the window, trying his damndest to see through the small parts in the plastic blinds.

He could make out Sam's bed surrounded by medical staff. The only part of his little brother he could see were his blanket-covered legs, moving around slowly and weakly under the covers.

Dean had never wanted to be inside one room more in his entire existence.

In that room was his little brother, alive and hopefully on the road to being well. In that room was the one person in Dean's world that held the key to his sanity. In that room was the floppy-haired, doe-eyed boy with cute dimples that Dean had raised and protected, the boy he'd taken care of for as long as he could remember.

And despite the fact that it was _doctors_ keeping Dean from his brother, the fact was, they were _keeping him from his brother._

Dean started pacing again.

The memory was still fresh in Dean's mind; the tired slivers of hazel, the feeling of Sam's weak hand held tightly in his own.

The smile that was so precious it made Dean's heart clench.

It was all there. In that room.

"Dean?"

The surprise at hearing the sound of his own name, coupled with the raw emotion tidal waving over his entire body, almost made Dean throw up.

He whirled around and found himself face to face with Bobby; who instantly paled, eyes widening, at what must've been an absolutely terrifying expression on Dean's face.

"Bobby…"

"What?" Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder, giving the younger man a small but rough shake. "What happened?"

"Sam-"

"Sam what?"

At that moment, the tidal waving emotions overflowed and Dean found himself tearing up. Bobby was on the verge of freaking out, Dean could tell; so he swallowed hard and attempted to take a deep breath. He forced the words out of his mouth. "Sam's awake."

It took a moment for Bobby's brain to process the information; the words coming from Dean were not at all what the older hunter expected, given Dean's physical reaction. Dean was upset, hell, he was practically trembling. Bobby shook his head in disbelief. "Wait, what?"

"Sam. He's awake."

"Sam's—_when_?"

"Half hour ago, the doc's been in with him ever since."

Bobby released a long breath, pulling off his baseball cap and running a hand droopingly through his hair. "Thank Christ."

"He opened his eyes, smiled at me."

"He's ok?"

Dean shrugged, turning back to the window of Sam's room. "I dunno, I think so."

Moving to stand behind the younger man, Bobby placed a hand on each of Dean's shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. "He's ok, Dean, he's fine."

"What the hell's takin' them so long?"

As if on cue, Dean watched as Dr. Hogarth pulled away from Sam's bed and made his way towards the door. The doctor appeared in the open doorway only a second later, a bright and cheerful smile on his face.

Dean didn't even give him the chance to open his mouth. "Is Sam ok?"

Raising his hands in a placating manner, Hogarth nodded. "Sam is fine."

"He's ok?"

"He's awake, he's lucid—however, he's completely exhausted." Moving aside in the doorway, he motioned for Dean to go in. "He's asking for you."

The moment of truth had arrived. Sam was awake, he was talking…and he was asking for his big brother.

Pushing his heart out of his throat and back into his chest, Dean swallowed hard and pushed past the doctor. The nurses were leaving as well and they all smiled at him as they passed; for the first time since he'd been there, Dean was able to return the gesture genuinely.

His eyes traveled to the familiar form in the bed and he swallowed hard again.

The back of Sam's bed had been raised and he was sitting up just slightly. Sam's eyes were open and as soon as they locked with Dean's, he smiled and raised his right hand in a feeble wave.

The breathing tube was gone, the ventilator was disconnected and sitting silent in the corner of the room. The room itself somehow seemed more welcoming as Dean walked up to his brother's bed.

It was brighter.

Sam was still smiling. "Hey." His voice was barely a whisper and Dean could hear an underlying rawness. He could imagine the pain of having the tube pulled out and hardly controlled a shudder.

Sam opened his mouth to speak again but Dean held up a hand and shook his head. "Don't talk ok?" Finally coming to a stop at Sam's bedside, he reached down and placed a hand lightly against Sam's shoulder; he wanted to hug him, he wanted to pull Sam close and never let him go.

Two things stopped Dean from doing that; one, Sam was obviously in rough shape…and two, Dean knew that if he made a physical move like that, he would lose whatever control he had.

So he settled for squeezing Sam's shoulder tightly, but gently.

Sam must've seen something in his big brother's eyes because he blinked slowly and took a deep breath. Slowly, so that Dean could understand, Sam mouthed the words "_Doc says I'm ok."_

Dean nodded tightly and sniffled.

Carefully, almost painfully so, Sam reached up his hand and gripped Dean's forearm. It was a ploy to get Dean's attention and it worked; Dean's eyes darted up and as soon as they locked gazes, Sam mouthed again. "_I'm sorry."_

And as easily as that, the levee broke.

Moisture welled alarmingly fast in Dean's eyes and he shook his head, desperately trying to keep control of himself. In an incredibly rough voice, he managed to force out, "Don't you dare say you're sorry."

Sam blinked and squeezed Dean's forearm again.

Dean's body suddenly weighed an absolute ton. The desperation he'd felt, the anxiousness, the worry, the terror, the complete and utter sadness of having to see his brother motionless and still. It came crashing on to him in a single instant, and against his will, he found himself leaning forward.

His forehead made a slow and dejected contact with Sam's chest, his eyes tightly closed in an effort to keep the moisture in.

With his head on Sam's chest, Dean could hear the strong heartbeat. He could feel the now natural rise and fall of his brother's chest. He could feel the warmth; warmth meant life and existence. Warmth meant Sam was ok.

And he cried.

Silently and strongly, his forehead buried into Sam's rough hospital gown.

And even though it was a simple movement, with hardly any physical strength or power…when Dean felt Sam's hand fall limply against the back of his head, his brother's fingers running gently and soothingly through his short hair…Dean in fact realized that the action had all the power in the world.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Here's chapter 7! Only one or two left in this one, I think. Of course I said that about _26_ chapters ago, so who really knows? lol Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews, you guys are fantastic! The support is amazing :) Hope you like this chapter. It was nearly impossible to finish writing; I would end the chapter, re-read it, completely _hate_ it, re-write it and hate it all over again.

PS...It struck me rather randomly this afternoon just how much I miss the brotherly moments right now in the series. The angst is awesome, don't get me wrong, but dammit...why can't these boys HUG!? Just ONE HUG, that's all I'm asking for. In season 5? I want _at least_ one good hug!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Sam or Dean. I _want_ them...but unfortunately, I don't _own_ them. Ah well, maybe one day...

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Dean was grinning to the point that his cheeks had started hurting.

He was once again plunked into the plastic chair at Sam's bedside, his body lazily leaning back in obvious relaxation. Dean was comfortable and at ease as he sat there. The sun had set what felt like hours ago, the small beams of light shining through the blinds had moved across the floor of the room slowly.

For the most part Sam had slept, his body doing what it could to recuperate from the sudden and joyous re-emergence into the world of the awake. Dean remembered in absurdly happy detail that as Sam's eyes had started drooping tiredly, he had boldly announced to him that he was, in fact, completely exhausted of being exhausted. Dean had simply told him to behave and then had sat back and watched as sleep had finally taken hold of his stubbornly unwilling little brother.

Under normal circumstances, Dean would've found it incredibly boring; just sitting there in darkness and silence, listening to Sam's breathing and light snoring. But at that moment he was completely content just where he was. Those sounds made him smile. They were Dean's _proof of life_; his guarantee that Sam was in fact fine. That he was sleeping—although against his will—healthily and naturally.

With Sam now awake, the two brothers were sitting quietly together talking about absolutely nothing in particular. They had reminisced, joked and laughed…they'd even spent a grand total of nearly ten minutes in complete silence, staring unflinchingly into each other's eyes, as if they'd both forgotten what the other looked like and were now trying to desperately re-familiarize themselves.

Sam's head was turned slightly to face him—the blankets wrapped tightly around his waist as he lay there with a smile.

As the hours had passed, the rawness in Sam's throat had practically disappeared. Every time he woke up and started talking, his voice sounded better. At one point, one of the nurses had tried to give them a pen and pad of paper in an effort to make communication between the brothers easier. It was actually _Sam_ who'd turned the offer down, saying that they didn't need it.

Their methods of silent communication were just as effective as speaking out loud. They'd perfected it.

Letting out a quiet chuckle, Dean lifted his feet and rested them leisurely on the small bedside table. He knew he'd eventually get a reapproving look from a nurse about having his hiking boots up on the furniture but he couldn't care less. He'd cross that bridge when he got there.

All he'd have to do is smile, give her a blast of his patented charm and all would be forgiven.

It always was.

"What the hell did we do? Didn't we glue his mailbox shut?"

Sam's smile widened. "Think so."

"Yeah, we did. We glued it shut with his mail still _in _there."

"Dad was pissed."

Dean shrugged. "Mr. DeWickie, wasn't that his name? Dude, he was miserable."

"He was eighty."

"Doesn't matter-"

"With a glued-shut mailbox."

Dad let out a sudden burst of laughter and leaned his head back against the high back of the chair. "Oh man-"

"He probably threw a party the day we left town."

"Christ knows _I_ did." Dean released a breath and lifted his head, settling his bright eyes on Sam's face. He felt something pass between them at that moment; maybe it was understanding, affection…it could've been brotherly love. Brotherly love—an emotion they both felt but could never voice out loud.

The burst of raw emotion that Dean had experienced at first seeing Sam awake hadn't been mentioned since it had happened; the tears, the sobbing, the reassuring movements of Sam's fingers through Dean's hair. It was a memory that both brothers would cherish for the rest of their lives, but Dean would never be able to talk about it and Sam would know not to ask. Those moments were sacred in the Winchester universe. They were protected fiercely, simply because displays of such blatant feeling were so rare.

It was a testament to them as brothers, as family, that a man who'd been taught to bury emotion completely crumbled at the sight of his baby brother's open eyes.

They were each other's world and both brothers knew it.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Dean cleared his throat and redirected his eyes up to the lightly ticking clock on the wall. It was nearly six-fifty-five in the evening. "It's almost time for one of Hogarth's hourly exams."

"Dammit." Sam sighed, shifting lightly in his bed. "He brings another needle, we're leaving."

"Now, Sammy-"

"Don't '_now Sammy'_ me-" The younger man shook his head. "Don't wanna hear it."

"I thought you were supposed to be the tolerant one?"

"Yeah, you wait 'till you see the size of this needle then we'll talk about tolerance."

"Needles aren't so bad."

"You _hate_ them, Dean."

With an air of incredulity, Dean responded, "Never said I didn't. But it could be worse."

The door to the room quietly opened and Dean instantly knew who it was. Glancing over his shoulder as a gesture of acknowledgment, he said, "Hey Bobby."

"Boys." Walking to the end of Sam's bed and standing at his usual post, Bobby stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Behaving yourselves, I hope."

Dean smiled angelically. "Always."

Bobby had been in and out consistently following Sam regaining consciousness. For the most part, he tried to give the brothers as much time alone as possible.

He had the distinct impression that they needed it, even if they weren't aware.

Truth was, Bobby had seen such an outrageous difference in Dean since Sam had woken up that it was damn near staggering. The older boy was smiling again, he seemed relaxed and at ease. He _hadn't_ _yet_ started flirting shamelessly with any of the nursing staff, but Bobby was predicting that that would be starting up shortly; as soon as he was sure that Sam was on the mend, the charm switch would flip and there'd be no stopping him.

It would be just another sign that things were returning to their own personal brand of normal.

Looking at Sam's face, which thankfully was no longer pale, Bobby smiled. "How you feeling, kid?"

"Pretty good."

Dean nodded his head, also smiling lightly. "The doc should be stoppin' in soon to check things out."

"Oh, the hourly check up, huh?"

"Yeah, another few minutes."

"And I'm telling you that if he walks in here with one of those needles-"

"You'll sit there and take it like a man." Dean finished the sentence for him and raised an eyebrow. "Sammy, it _can't_ be as bad as you're makin' it sound-"

"Yeah, ok, whatever…just you wait."

Bobby shook his head, internally jumping for joy at the familiar Winchester brotherly banter.

He'd missed it to the point of chest pains.

"Only a couple hours and you're lookin' pretty lively." Bobby watched as Sam relaxed into the mattress with a sigh. "Guess the doc has had some good news?"

"He did a couple tests after Sammy woke up. He says that the swelling has gone down, only minor traces of it left…Sam's arm is healing well, should be no problems."

Bobby nodded. "You're talkin' well, too. How's the throat feelin'?"

"It's still a little sore." Sam said quietly, absentmindedly flexing the fingers of his right hand. "But it's not too bad."

"Keep suckin' on those ice chips, one of the nurses said it would help."

Dean reached over to Sam's meal tray and grabbed the small ice bucket, raising it up and shaking the contents around pointedly. "Fully stocked on ice chips."

Sam sighed again. "I'd give anything for a cheeseburger right about now."

Dean couldn't help but laugh. "That's my boy."

The door to the room opened again and Hogarth appeared, all smiles. He immediately walked to the end of Sam's bed and grabbed his chart, flipping it open and scanning the last few entries. "Sam, how are you feeling?"

Sam studied the doctor intensely and Dean knew that he was looking for any sign of a syringe. Obviously satisfied with what he saw, Sam said, "Ok. Still a little tired."

"Yes, well, that's to be expected. As your system reboots, you'll probably experience fatigue and lethargy. It's completely normal."

Dean cleared his throat quietly and all eyes darted to him. "Is there anythin' else we should be expecting?"

"It varies from patient to patient." The doctor explained good-naturedly. "Some coma recovery patients experience problems with thought process and self-care…bathing, walking, and feeding themselves becomes a challenge. So far I don't see any of those signs with Sam. He's moving on his own, he's talking and coherent." Hogarth smiled at each man in turn. "I don't think we'll have any troubles on the horizon."

"It doesn't seem like enough." Sam said softly, his unwavering eyes on the doctor. "With what happened, y'know?"

Hogarth nodded. "I'm not going to lie to you, Sam, you're extremely lucky. The lacerations and stitches in your back are healing nicely, your arm is healing nicely, you may experience tiredness like I said before, but otherwise, you're in good shape."

Dean released a breath and hung his head for a moment. He wanted to mutter _thank God_, but somehow managed to keep the thought to himself.

Hogarth continued.

"I'll keep an eye on you, of course, for the next few days. Eventually I'm going to have someone from Physiotherapy come down and work with you a little bit; we'll make sure that you can walk without problems, that sitting and standing are as normal and painless as possible."

Sam nodded. "When do you think I'll be able to leave?"

Dean raised his head and locked his eyes on his brother. He'd been expecting _that_ question—honestly, he wanted to know the answer, too—but deep, deep down, he wanted Sam to stay as long as possible.

As confident as the doctor was, Dean couldn't help but be skeptical. In his extremely basic medical knowledge, a coma was not something to be messed with; and as happy as he was that Sam was awake and that the doctor's report was a positive one, he was still wary and nervous.

His kid brother had been thrown through a three storey window. He'd had swelling in his brain which had led to a coma—he'd been unconscious and unresponsive, on a _ventilator_, for four days.

Dean completely believed that a person was capable of waking up, undergoing treatment and eventually walking away from it all. The human body was amazingly resilient. It never failed to amaze him what a person could go through and survive. But with Sammy, he was determined to be damn sure before he even let the kid out of bed.

"I'm not going to commit myself and give you an answer, Sam." The doctor answered gently. "To be completely honest, your injuries were serious and the last thing I want to do is leave a stone unturned and cause you harm. Let's just go with the flow and see where we end up, ok?"

All Sam and Dean could do was silently nod.

***

"_Dean? How do you spell __**millennium**__?"_

_Hopping off the counter, Dean made his way over to the kitchen table; he pulled out the other chair with his foot and plonked himself down beside his brother. "M-I-L-L-E-N-"_

"_Aren't there two 'n's?"_

"_I wasn't done yet."_

"_Oh."_

"_N-I-U-M."_

_Sam scribbled the last few letters into his notebook and let out a sigh, dropping his pencil. "I hate spelling."_

"_But it's good for you. It'll get that geek brain of yours into shape."_

_The younger boy made a face. "Are there two 'r's in __**embarrassment**__?"_

"_There are two 'r's and two 's's."_

"_But only one 'b'?"_

_Dean blinked. "Yeah, Sammy. Only one 'b'."_

"_Why can't Ms. Spek give us easy words to spell, like __**puppy **__and __**duty**__?" The light chuckle that came from Dean had Sam dropping his shoulders dejectedly. "What're you laughing at?"_

"_You said __**doody**__."_

_Sam stared blankly until it clunked into place. " I didn't mean it like that!"_

"_Hey, you said it."_

"_No I didn't!"_

_Still chuckling, the older boy reached over and ruffled Sam's hair. "Get a grip, I was only kiddin'."_

"_That's gross."_

"_Yeah, well…"_

"_What time did Pastor Jim say he'd be back?"_

"_No idea. Soon, I guess."_

_Sam picked up his pencil and poised to write again. He hesitated and swallowed hard; his voice came out quiet and unsure. "When's dad comin' back?"_

_Dean was quiet for a moment, but eventually he leaned forward and rested his arms on the surface of the table. __**His**__ voice was quiet, too…but it was also completely confident. "Soon, Sammy. Remember he said he wasn't gonna be gone long."_

"_That was three days ago."_

_After a second, Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know."_

"_He never keeps his promises."_

_At that moment, Dean felt his stomach shift._

_This was the little brother that broke Dean's heart; the little guy who's eyes got glassy when he was disappointed, the little guy that had every confidence in their father. _

_Dean had learned recently never to hold much stock in the promises their father made. Sam was still too young to even think of learning such a thing._

_He ruffled Sam's hair again and then slid his hand to the back of the boy's neck. "I know. But he's workin', you know that. He wants to be here, Sammy. He would be if he could."_

"_How do you know that?"_

"_I just do."_

_Sam took a deep breath and glanced quickly at Dean's face. He seemed almost nervous to make eye-contact; Dean frowned. "Why do __**you**__ do it?"_

"_Why do I do what?"_

"_Keep promises."_

_Dean's frown deepened. "What are you talkin' about?"_

_His eight-year-old brother sighed. "Dad doesn't keep promises. Why do you?"_

_It was possibly one of the most randomly unexpected and truly horrible questions Sammy could've ever asked. Dean was a good talker, he always had been; he had an innate way of things when it came to reassuring the floppy-haired boy in front of him. But with such a question out there in the air, and with no possible way of answering without causing some sort of trauma, Dean was at a loss._

_After a few moments of internally flipping out, he said, "Because promises are important. They mean a lot."_

"_What about promises to brothers?"_

_Dean smiled fondly and squeezed Sam's neck. "Those are the most important. Which is why I don't break 'em."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah, really. Promises made to brothers—especially to little brothers? They're special."_

"_What about promises to big brothers?"_

"_Well…what do you think?"_

_Sammy thought for a few seconds and then carefully set down his pencil. He caught his lip between his teeth and then smiled hugely at Dean. "They're special too."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_**Really**__ special." Sam's smile faded slowly and once again, in a quiet voice, he asked, "If they're important, why doesn't dad keep them?"_

_Dean sighed and answered honestly. "I don't know, Sammy."_

_As Sam's face fell even more, Dean did the only thing that came to mind; he wrapped an arm around Sam's small shoulders and pulled him into a rare, but tight hug._

***

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

Dean, who was still seated in his chair by the bed, turned his eyes to his brother and nodded. "Shoot."

Sam swallowed hard. "What happened…after the poltergeist?"

A tingling feeling started spreading from the top of Dean's head all the way down to his toes. Memories were flooding his mind—memories he'd spent hours, _days_, trying to black out. The dreaded memory drawer was broken open and it made him feel sick to his stomach. "Why are you askin' me that?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember?"

"No."

"Not anything?"

Settling further into his pile of blankets, Sam snuggled into the warmth. "I remember little things…y'know? I remember the metal shelves-"

Dean nodded tightly. "Picked you up and threw you like you were nothin'."

"I remember the feeling of hitting the window." Sam closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to get lost in the remembrance. "I remember falling."

"Sam-"

"I remember you screaming."

Dean felt his face twitch and he was now antsy to the point where he couldn't stay in the chair. He stood abruptly and ran a hand through his hair; Sam's eyes widened at his sudden movement. "Dean?"

"I can't talk about this, Sammy." He said in a strained voice, tugging on his short hair as if in his moment of hysterics he'd start to pull it out. "I can't…I don't want to."

"Dean, it's ok, man-"

"No it's not." Dean shook his head. "It's not ok. Not even a little bit."

Sam swallowed and watched as Dean moved erratically around the room, as agitated as Sam had ever seen him.

Dean was generally a calm and collected person. Sure, he had a short fuse…he always had…but he usually tried to stay disconnected from intense situations. It was a Dean Winchester rule that he kept his emotions to himself; he believed that wearing his heart on his sleeve could lead to advantages for his enemies.

Love and affection led to connections…connections lead to weakness…weakness led to pain.

It was a hunter's cross to bare.

But right there, in that room, they weren't hunters. In that room, they were brothers…that's it.

"I'm gonna get a cup of coffee-"

"Dean, please-"

"It's ok, Sammy." Dean glanced at Sam quickly, his voice suddenly soft. "Just…need somethin' to do. I'll be right back."

And Sam watched helplessly—cursedly stuck in his bed—as Dean pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Ok, so this is the shortest chapter yet, and I'm sorry about that. My muse has sort been full-steam-ahead on this story since I first started writing it, but tonight it just wasn't cooperating. I hope you like it anyway :) Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own anybody. Just playing around for a bit.

********************************

Hospital coffee was absolutely gross.

Throughout his lifetime Dean had had some pretty questionable cups of caffeine; but as he stood there sipping from the flimsy styrofoam cup, he found himself wondering who's idea it was in the first place to create a _coffee vending machine_.

All the weird things he'd seen over the years, _that_ was one of the weirdest…supernatural beings included.

"How's the coffee?"

Dean's eyes flashed over to Dr. Hogarth, who was standing only a few feet away and clipping an x-ray onto one of the backlit viewing boards.

Dean figured honesty was the best policy.

"It's kinda like water with food coloring in it."

Hogarth chuckled quietly as he studied the x-ray. "The machine is new, though I doubt that has anything to do with it."

"What's wrong with normal coffee makers?"

"Absolutely nothing. The machine is just more convenient."

Dean nodded, accepting that.

And then he started wondering again…why the hell were they talking about coffee machines?

"Is Sam asleep again?"

Clearing his throat quietly, Dean shook his head. "No, he's awake."

"And he's feeling alright?"

"He's tired, a little sore, but seems ok."

"And you, how are you doing?"

"Pretty much the same, I guess."

"Tired, sore, but ok?" Dean shrugged and after a moment Hogarth nodded. "Yes, I can understand that. Few people realize that the trauma of something like this affects family members as well…sometimes in similar ways."

"Well, I think I got off slightly better than Sam did."

"On a physical level, I'd agree with you. But on an _emotional_ level-" Hogarth let out a breath and pulled the x-ray from the board, switching off the backlight. "I can see how all of this has affected you-" He said in a gentle voice. "I've spent years dealing with distraught family members—parents grieving for their kids, kids for their parents. Siblings as well. Some are better at hiding it, others aren't."

"So what exactly are you saying?"

The doctor sighed. "All I'm saying is that it's obvious you and Sam are close. You've hardly left his side since he was brought in, that says a lot."

"And?"

"And…to be frank, I find it strange that he's awake and you're out here, sipping on food coloring and water."

"It's weird for a guy who's been up all night to get a cup of coffee?"

A smile came across the other man's face and he shook his head. "Not at all. I was just making an observation."

Dean took a deep breath and threw his now empty cup into the small garbage can by the wall. "It's just uh-" He ran a hand through his hair. "It's been a long week."

"Things are only going to get easier from here, Dean."

"Is that your doctor guarantee?"

He smiled and raised a hand to Dean's shoulder. "That's my exclusive _big brother_ guarantee." At Dean's confused expression, Hogarth said, "His name is Christopher and he's an english major at UMASS."

Dean's respect for the doctor skyrocketed instantly. To know that Hogarth himself was a big brother brought his ongoing concern for Sam into a brand new light.

Dean swallowed hard and nodded his head gratefully. "Thank you."

"Your brother's worried about you. Do his recovery a favor and don't keep him waiting for very long."

After a putting a gentle pat on Dean's shoulder the doctor adjusted the x-rays in his hands and headed down the hallway. Dean watched him intensely until he disappeared around a corner.

*******

When Dean walked back through the door only a few short minutes later, he was disappointed to see that while he'd been gone Sam had fallen back into sleep. While he was sure his little brother needed the rest, he desperately wanted to talk. He _desperately_ wanted to hear his little brother's voice.

Dean knew without a doubt that as soon as Sam woke up again he'd start asking questions. He wanted to know about what had happened after the attack from the poltergeist, and his curiosity wouldn't be satisfied until he heard the whole story.

Even though Sam was a grown man, he still possessed a lot of childlike qualities; an insatiable inquisitiveness, a relentless trust and love of people. He genuinely _believed_ in people.

Dean was exactly the opposite.

Dean believed that the world would be a better place _without_ people.

As quietly as he could, the older man made his way across the room and moved to lean casually against the wall beside the window. For it being so late in the evening, the hospital parking lot was bustling; ambulances with flashing lights came and went quickly, random people making their way inside from parked cars (some carrying bags or suitcases, indicating a long stay).

Dean had always been able to recognize family members in a hospital environment. They had a frantic look to them—flustered and tired, some were frustrated.

He knew because he'd been frantic, flustered, tired and frustrated several times himself in a hospital waiting room.

Dean had discovered when he was a teenager that there wasn't a hospital waiting room in existence that had enough space for him to effectively pace in.

"Dean?"

The small and tired voice startled him slightly and he turned his head, trying to make out Sam's face in the darkness of the room. "Thought you were sleepin'."

He heard Sam sigh gently, then a light shuffle of the blankets. "Heard you come in."

"Sorry, dude."

"Don't be. It's ok."

"How you feelin'?"

"Pretty good, I guess." There was a pause. "You gonna come sit down or are you gonna stand there all night?"

Dean felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I was thinkin' about standin' here."

"Don't be a smart ass, come sit down."

After a slight hesitation, Dean pushed himself from the wall and rounded the bed as carefully as he could in the dark. Neither brother bothered turning on the light, there wasn't really a need to.

Settling himself down into the chair once again, Dean let out a breath.

Sam chuckled. "That chair's gonna have an imprint of your butt in it by the time we leave."

"Yeah, well, at least the imprint'll be a nice one."

"So you say."

"Hey, a lot of people say it."

The younger man snorted. "Like who?"

"What, you want a list of names?"

Sam laughed gently and Dean found himself smiling at the sound. It still sounded like Sam's throat was sore but it was still a heartwarming sound nonetheless. "So where'd you go when you left earlier?"

Dean cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his chair. "Where I _said_ I was goin'. Just got a cup of coffee."

"_Why_ did you leave?"

"You know they have coffee comin' outta _vending machines_ now? Takes about a second and a half to brew, dude, it's nasty."

"Dean-"

"I'll ask the doc if he can put a steel lining in your stomach, then I'll get you a cup."

"Stop avoiding the question."

Dean let out a sigh. "What do you want me to say, Sam? I needed to get outta the room for a bit, that's all."

A small silence fell between them, the only sound was the blare of a siren coming from outside. In the darkness Dean watched as Sam slowly and carefully turned onto his side to face where he was sitting, pulling the blankets up as far as they would go.

Without thinking about his actions, Dean reached a hand out and took a firm hold of the blanket. He pulled them up gently, nearly to Sam's neck, and then tucked them in tightly.

Sam snuggled further down into the warmth. "Thanks."

Dean didn't answer. He just sat back in his chair and released a slow breath. "You really feelin' alright?"

"Yeah, I guess. Doc told me today that he's gonna move me into my own room downstairs."

"He say when?"

"Probably tomorrow."

Dean couldn't help but smile, instantly recognizing the complete lack of enthusiasm in his brother's voice. "You really want outta here, don't you?"

Sam snorted again. "Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess. Gotta make sure you're doin' ok before we even think about it, though."

"Dean, I'm fine. Little tired, little sore-"

"You just came off a ventilator at eleven o'clock today, Sam, let's just…take this one step at a time."

"If you sign me out AMA, you can help me around-"

"We're not talkin' about this right now." Dean said firmly and with authority. "This is your _brain_ we're talkin' about, man, I'm not messin' with that."

Sam sighed in that little brother fashion that, loosely translated, meant _this totally bites_. "Hogarth said that things are looking good-"

"You were in a coma. On a ventilator. End of discussion."

"You're annoying."

"You keep talkin' about gettin' outta here ahead of schedule? Trust me, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"Oh, I've seen it all, dude."

Dean chuckled quietly, watching as Sam shifted in his blankets again. "You comfortable?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah…just sick of lying down all the time."

"Remember, doc said you're gonna be walkin' soon. Get all the rest you can."

"I was unconscious, Dean, not paraplegic."

"Doesn't matter. You've been lyin' on your butt for almost five days, gotta get the gears grindin' again." Sam let out a slow breath and even in the darkness Dean could see that he'd closed his eyes. "You fallin' back asleep?"

"I was thinking about it."

"Hogarth'll probably be comin' in again before he leaves."

"Mmhmm."

Dean knew instantly when Sam fell into sleep. His breathing evened out, it was slow and calm. The usual stress lines in his face smoothed themselves out.

It never failed to amaze the older Winchester how young Sam looked in sleep.

His defenses lowered and the walls he'd built around himself came crumbing down easily and effortlessly. And with all he'd been through the last few days—the unconsciousness, the emotional strain, the physical strain, the hurt—he hadn't had the energy to raise his defenses in the first place.

Settling further into his chair, Dean willed his body to relax.

With the last few bits of anxiousness leaving his chest, Dean's defenses had started to crumble, too. And as far as he was concerned, that was a damn good reason to try and get some sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Well, after this one, there's only going to be one more chapter. I know that this one skips ahead a bit, but in the interest of time I thought it would get things moving along just a little bit faster. This is the longest chapter of the story, so woo hoo for my muse! lol Thanks again to **everyone** for the wonderful reviews; each one makes me smile and each one has helped me keep this story going. You guys are amazing :)

PS...I'm sending a hug out to Dawn N, sammygirl1963, sayrae3times, bylvie and pandora jazz for their support and encouragement. As I've said before, you all make my day with every piece of feedback you give and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own Sammy or Dean...bummer.

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_The wooden spoon very nearly broke in half as Dean bit down, the holy water bubbling and frothing as soon as it hit his shoulder._

_The Wendigo had taken an enormous swipe at him in the chaotic final moments of the hunt, and now, he had a fairly severe slice across his left shoulder blade._

_The motel room they were staying in was damp and cold, the air from outside snaking its way in through whatever crack or crevice it could. The cold was almost like an entity itself with a mind of its own. _

_John Winchester was silent as he sat in the creaky wooden chair beside the bed where Dean was situated, naked from the waist up with the wooden spoon still clamped in between his teeth. _

_John sighed, waiting for the bubbling to stop before pouring the other half of the bottle into the wound. "Almost done, Dean."_

_All Dean could do was grunt in acknowledgement around the spoon, giving a short nod. _

_The burning sensation in his shoulder was damn near blinding and for the shortest second he was sure he saw stars; black spots swimming behind his eyes, a light ringing in his ears._

"_Dean?"_

_Slowly forcing his eyes open, Dean's gaze fell on the terrified and pale face of his baby brother, who was sitting on the other bed, looking like he wanted nothing more than to hug and comfort. _

_At thirteen-years-old, Sam was still too young for hunting—by order of their dad out loud, and by order of Dean in silence. So he'd stayed behind at the motel while the older Winchesters had ventured into the woods, eventually spelunking into the cave, in search of the Wendigo. _

_After Dean was hurt, John had called his youngest son and told him—in a startlingly calm voice—to get out the first aid kit, to find as many towels as he could, and to fill the ice bucket with cold water. John and Dean had stumbled through the door only a few minutes later, the throaty rumble of the Impala announcing their arrival before the door had even swung open._

_John had immediately set to work, ordering Dean to remove his shirt and ordering Sam to sit quietly on the other bed. _

_Sam hadn't moved or made a sound since._

_Until now._

_"Dean?"_

_Working tremendously to find the energy, Dean sent a strong and reassuring wink to his little brother. The younger man's shoulders relaxed just slightly, but he was still wide-eyed and pale. Dean hated seeing that expression on Sam's face; an expression of barely controlled panic, as well as body language that showed just how desperately he wanted to fidget. _

_As his dad's touch disappeared from his back, Dean knew that he was threading the needle. An instinctual tightness invaded his muscles and it was only a few seconds later that John told him gently but forcefully to try and relax._

_The stitches took close to half an hour to finish, both John and Dean relieved to find after closer inspection that the muscle tissue in Dean's shoulder hadn't been damaged. Stitches were bad enough, but stitching together __**muscle tissue **__first? That was the time for the 'screw the __Lidocaine, just knock me out' speech. _

_Lidocaine at that moment would've been a luxury. It was only the second time that Dean had had to endure stitches without good drugs. _

_After cleaning up the bloody towels and the first aid kit, then helping his oldest to lie down in a position that was most comfortable—at the same time, barricading him in with pillows and blankets—John let out a breath and grabbed the car keys._

_"I need to grab a couple things from the drug store and I'm gonna get us somethin' to eat." He made eye-contact with Dean. "Don't go movin' around, you hear me?" Then he looked at Sam. "Take care of your brother, I'll be back soon."_

_Both brothers, one sleepy-eyed and one wide-eyed, watched as their father left the room quickly. _

_Dean let out a slow breath, trying his best to relax each part of his body one at a time. There was a strange feeling in his shoulder—it was pounding will a dull ache, but every once in a while, it would flare with sharp pains…as if someone was poking it with something pointy. _

"_Dean?" Sam's voice was still small and unsure, nearly a whisper, as if he was afraid that Dean would explode if he talked too loudly. From within his cocoon of blankets, Dean looked out at him sleepily. "Are you ok?"_

_He swallowed hard. "I'm ok, Sammy."_

"_You promise?"_

_The corner of Dean's mouth twitched gently. "Yeah, I promise."_

_***_

Dean smiled fondly as he leaned casually against the far wall, watching as Hogarth and two nurses—both of whom had smiled enticingly at him when they'd walked in—negotiated a long limbed Sammy from under his blankets.

Apart from his legs being incredibly stiff, although not _nearly_ as bad as the previous few days, he was in great shape. Hogarth had made good on his promise and Sam had had several appointments with therapists from the upper floors; physiotherapy, as well as an unexpected visit from a neurology physical therapist, who spent nearly two hours testing Sam on things like vision, balance, movement, and speech.

When Dean questioned Hogarth about the neurology therapist, the doctor had replied by saying that the referral was an impulse decision he'd made after examining Sam's latest MRI results.

Dean had immediately paled, but Hogarth had assured him that the results were fine. It had just seemed smart, considering the type of injury he'd suffered, to make sure that Sam was functioning as normally as possible.

Bobby had taken off three days before, sticking around long enough to see Sam start his physio. He hadn't wanted to leave the brothers alone, that much was obvious, and it was only after continued reassurances from both Sam and Dean that he felt comfortable enough to head home.

Dean had also had to promise nearly _four_ times that he'd call if anything else happened.

The goodbye between the older men had come quite close to being tearful, but both had steeled themselves when it mattered and somehow Bobby had managed to get into his car and drive away without a single tear being shed.

Dean was somewhat proud of himself.

Sam's grand total of days spent in the Boston hospital, that morning, had reached ten; four days unconscious, one day waking up and recovering, and then another five days working daily with therapists. He'd been moved out of the ICU the day before he'd started his physical recovery and was now in his own room, one floor down.

Dean was happy about the move. One, getting Sammy out of the ICU was a huge step--both for Sam and for himself, emotionally. And two? The nurses were prettier.

To say that the younger man was anxious to leave would've been an enormous understatement. Only Dean pulling rank and threatening a beat-down of his own made Sam relent and behave himself.

Sam, jokingly, had said, "You'll give me another head injury, dude."

The words had made Dean feel sick to his stomach, but the threat remained.

They were staying until Hogarth gave enough of a thumbs up.

Not only was Sam feeling a thousand times better, but he was finally allowed to change out of the slightly ridiculous light purple hospital gown and into his own clothes. The t-shirt and black sweatpants that Dean had brought in from the Impala had brought such a huge grin to his little brother's face, he couldn't help but wonder when Sam had started getting so cheerful about clothing.

But then, Dean understood. He'd spent several days himself wearing one of the 'flash your ass to the world' hospital gowns. At a certain point, t-shirts and sweats got exciting.

The voices in the room forced their way into Dean's consciousness and he refocused his attention to the spectacle at Sam's bed.

"Are your legs still stiff?"

His little brother shook his head. "No, not at all."

Hogarth nodded, pleased with that answer. "I've read all the reports from upstairs. Dr. Davis, your neurology therapist?" Sam nodded. "Says that there's no reason to continue those treatments; he says your responses are sound and articulate, he says that your movements are smooth. Your vision is flawless. Neurologically, Sam, you're fine."

Dean snorted good-naturedly. "Hey dude, your brain's fine. Who knew?"

Sam made a face in response but there was a ghost of a smile in his cheeks.

"Does that mean that I can leave soon?"

Dean, instantly, wasn't impressed. Using his 'older brother knows best, don't even think of messing with me' voice, he breathed a warning. "Sam."

Recognizing the sudden tension in the room, Hogarth politely cleared his throat. "Like I've said before, let's just see how things go, ok?"

There was a distinct drop in Sam's shoulders, but he gave a small nod.

A sudden shrill beeping filled the room and the doctor sighed, looking down at a beeper clipped to his belt. "I have to continue with my rounds, but I'll be back as soon as I can." Looking imploringly at Sam, he said, "Get some rest, ok?"

Hogarth turned and started towards the door, and in a completely planned move, Dean followed.

Once through the door, Dean cleared his throat and called out, "Hey, doc?" Hogarth—who'd started down the hallway—immediately stopped and turned back around. "Can I just talk to you for a second?"

Giving an accommodating nod, the doctor made his way back over. "Is there a problem?"

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his mouth quickly. "Sam really wants outta here." He said quietly. "I just, I wanted to ask you…I mean, if we were to sign him out-"

"You want him to leave?"

"I _want_ him to be ok. I know this kid, he's miserable in here. He's bored off his face."

"And you think leaving would do him good?"

"We travel a lot, y'know? He's not used to bein' stuck in one place longer than a couple days, maybe gettin' back on the road will make him feel better."

Hogarth sighed and worried his lip for a brief second. "I'm not a huge supporter of consenting to patients signing out ahead of schedule-"

"I know."

"But at the same time, I _am_ a huge supporter of patients recuperating where they're most comfortable, so…let's leave it for right now, see what kind of night he has and we'll go from there."

Dean nodded gratefully. "Sounds good."

Pointing towards the door, the doctor said, "Make sure he takes it easy." And Dean watched as, once again, the doctor briskly started walking down the hallway, checking his beeper as he went.

When Dean walked back into Sam's room only a few seconds later, he was faced with a confused looking kid brother. "What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "You…running after the doctor like that."

"I didn't _run_-"

"Yeah, you totally did."

"Lay off, will you? It was nothin'."

"You scheming to keep me in here?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the hilariously funny look of suspicion on Sam's face. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm _scheming_ to keep you in here. You caught me."

"Come on, man-"

"Untwist your boxers, ok? It wasn't like that." Dean, who was completely sick of sitting, moved to lean back against the wall near the end of Sam's bed. "Actually, I was just askin' him what he thought of us signin' you out now."

Sam blinked for a moment, bemused. "What?"

"You heard me. Asked him what he thought of you leavin', whether or not he thought you'd be ok."

"_And…?"_

"And…he said he'd think about it."

Sam's face fell. "Well that's vague."

"He's a doctor, being vague is one of the things he gets paid for."

"But I don't get it-" Sam leaned back against his insane pile of pillows and furrowed his brow. "I didn't think you _wanted_ me to leave."

"I never said that. What I said was, I don't want you leavin' until Hogarth _says_ it's ok for you to leave." Dean crossed his arms. "If it's a little ahead of schedule, that's fine, as long as the doc says it's ok."

"You _never_ listen to doctors, Dean."

"Yeah, well, you're a different story."

Sam made another face and let out a breath.

Yeah, Sammy was a different story.

As far as Dean was concerned, he himself could go against medical advice. He could disobey doctors, he could forgo medication or pain killers (putting the pill bottles in the first aid kid in case they were needed later), and he could sign out of a hospital before he should.

But not Sam.

_Never_ Sam.

Sam had to listen to doctors and do what he was told, unless of course circumstances called for a quick getaway.

Nothing would get in the way of Sam's recovery, big brother would make sure of it.

*******

As he approached the Impala, Dean felt an uncontrollable smile break out on his face. The car sat there perfectly, in all it's glory, the black paint glinting in the afternoon sun.

"Hey sweetheart." He greeted her quietly, trailing his fingers along the heated metal on his way to the driver's side.

What he needed was actually in the trunk, but just for a moment, he wanted to experience the relaxation of lowering himself into the familiar vinyl seat behind the wheel.

Dean's smile only widened as he pulled open the door and heard the characteristic creaking of hinges. He practically groaned in happiness when he sank into the seat, the car almost seeming to purr and wrap itself around him protectively.

It was in that seat that he felt most comfortable, like he was exactly where he should be.

As silly as the idea would be to an outsider, he'd grown up in that car—both him and Sam. The familiar vinyl seats had served as beds when they slept, and tables when they ate. They had served as a game board, a desk when Dean had helped Sam with his homework…even as a sick bed when either brother had had a fever or a stuffed up nose.

The Impala was the Winchester version of a permanent home.

A house on wheels, with a V8 engine and one _hell_ of an attitude.

Dean sat there in silence for only a few minutes, soaking up whatever strength he could. It took a sudden jolt of realization for him to remember why he'd ventured down to the car in the first place; Sam had asked him to bring up his duffel bag, which at that moment was—

"In the damn trunk." Dean sighed to himself and slid out of his seat, pushing the driver's door closed then moving towards the trunk in one swift movement.

His standard reason for opening the trunk usually involved the well-hidden weapons locker, but he by-passed it and grabbed the strap of Sam's bag, throwing it over his shoulder.

*****

Sam was wide awake when Dean walked back into the room shortly after, sitting up in his bed as he scratched at the stubble on his face distastefully. As soon as his eyes fell on his duffel bag, he smiled. "Thanks, man."

Dean gently set the bag down onto Sam's outstretched legs and nodded, shedding his jacket. "No problem. Your kit should be in there."

"I'm actually excited about shaving, Dean, how lame is that?"

He chuckled, tossing his jacket onto a chair before slowly rolling up the sleeves of his outer shirt. "You got peach fuzz on your face, little brother, I don't blame you. Any word from Hogarth?"

"No. That nurse you got a thing for said he'd be in soon, though."

"She's cute."

"She's _under-age_."

Dean laughed. "No she's not."

"Dude, she's a nursing _student_."

"That doesn't mean she's jail-bait-"

"She's in her _first_ year, and she's only here because she has to have a certain number of volunteer hours before the end of the semester."

All Dean could do was blink stupidly, swallowing hard. "Oh."

Sam shook his head, trying not to smile. "Yeah, _oh_."

"Well I never made a move."

"Good. See that you don't." Sam watched as Dean plonked himself down into his chair, raising a hand and massaging the back of his neck tiredly. "You tired?"

He shrugged. "I'm ok."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinkin' that once we get you outta here? We should hit the road for a couple hours, find a motel and crash for a day or two-"

Sam sighed, already shaking his head. "Dean-"

"It's a good idea, Sammy."

"If we're just gonna find a room and crash, why not just keep me in _here_?"

"Because _here_ is different than a place of our own, I get that." Dean raised his feet and rested his boots on the very edge of Sam's bed. "And I don't care what you say, you're not ready for a job yet."

"Oh thanks."

"I mean it. Remember before all this crap went down, we found those leads in Cambridge? There was one in South Boston-"

"The Southie projects, yeah. Violent spirit was one of them, I think."

Dean nodded knowingly. "I'm not walkin' into a hunt when you're not a hundred percent-"

"You go into hunts like that all the time!"

"And what did I say earlier? You're different."

Sam snorted. "And why's that?"

"Because I'm the oldest-"

"Yeah, right." Sam couldn't help but laugh, despite how annoyed he was. "Where've I heard _that_ before."

The door to the room opened quickly and Hogarth made his way in, going right to the chart at the end of Sam's bed. After a few seconds of studying it, he looked up and smiled at both brothers. "We're doing ok?"

Sam nodded. "Pretty good."

"Good stuff."

Dean cleared his throat and nodded his head at the chart. "How's he lookin'?"

"I've gone over everything—all the scans, the blood work, Sam's EEG—everything looks very good."

"Good enough to get outta here?"

Hogarth let out a slow breath and held Sam's chart tightly in his fingers. "It's been ten days since Sam was first admitted…six days since he regained consciousness. Neurology has given it's approval, so has physiotherapy." He looked over at Sam. "Frankly, you've surprised a couple of my colleagues with how well you're doing."

Dean shook his head, unable to stop the smirk from lifting the one corner of his mouth. "That's our Sammy; chronic over-achiever."

"Shut up, Dean."

The doctor laughed gently and nodded his head. After a moment of silence, he looked to Sam again. "So are you still determined to do this crazy thing?"

Sam seemed to hesitate for the shortest second, looking over to his brother; they locked eyes. Dean knew from Sam's expression that the younger man expected him to butt in and have his say, but Dean was determined to keep quiet.

He believed that Sam was the patient and Hogarth was the doctor. It was between them.

He'd only interfere if things got ridiculous or if real decisions were being made.

"It's been ten days, doc." Sam said genuinely, shrugging his shoulders. Dean immediately recognized his little brother's infamous 'puppy-dog' face; that look was a pain in the ass and it rarely worked…accept that it always did. "I just, I can't sit here anymore."

"I told your brother yesterday that I wanted to see how last night was for you, and according to your night nurse it went well, so…if leaving is what you want to do, I can't find any _medical_ reason that says you should stay."

"So I can go?"

"If you _honestly_ believe that leaving will benefit your recovery, then yes, as far as I'm concerned, you can go."

The time had come for big brother to interfere.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam." The younger man looked over and Dean could tell that he instantly recognized the seriousness of the moment; Sam gave a small nod to prove he was listening. "If you say that you're feelin' ok, I believe you…but I need you to promise me."

Something shifted in Sam's eyes and Dean was sure it meant they were both remembering the same thing. Sam eventually gave a small nod and he visibly swallowed hard. "I promise, Dean, I'm ok."

And Dean accepted it.

He'd made the same promise to Sam years before, staring out at him tiredly from his shelter of blankets with nearly thirty stitches in his shoulder. When he'd promised Sam back then that he was fine, he'd meant it with every fiber of his being.

He could only hope that _Sam's_ promise was just as truthful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is...the last chapter. I've gotta be honest, I'm sad about finishing this story; I had a great time writing it! Actually, it's been the only story I've been able to write. I just wanted to thank each and every person who's read this story...and thank you to each and every person that took the time to either leave a review or send me an e-mail. For someone who still gets nervous about posting, there's no nicer feeling than getting a nice message full of support and encouragement. So thank you! :) I hope you like the chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Eric Kripke owns Sammy and Dean...I'm _jealous._

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Dean once again found himself down in the parking lot, his upper body leaning precariously through the open driver's door of his much-loved Chevy.

It was early afternoon—nearly two o'clock—and the ball had started rolling on Sam's release papers earlier that day.

It had been a short, but serious, discussion between the brothers and Sam's doctor; Hogarth saying that he couldn't find a medical reason to _keep_ Sam in the hospital…and Sam promising that he was well enough to leave and get back on the road.

Which is why Dean was currently grunting awkwardly, reaching across to the passenger side and trying desperately not to crack his head on the roof of the car.

Dean Winchester's smile _never _failed.

By _using_ the charming smile he knew he had, he'd managed to wheedle pillows and blankets from one of the nurses, using them to create as comfortable a place for Sam in the passenger seat as he could. Dean could practically picture Sam rolling his eyes, but he didn't care; he wasn't making a stink about Sam's early release, so the little punk would have to just suck it up and deal with his big brother's mother-bear protectiveness.

Even though Dean hadn't wanted to say it out loud, the truth was he couldn't wait to get back on the road.

It was usual for him to feel cabin fever after being in the same town for more than a few days and Boston wasn't any different. Throughout his travels, he had always favored the larger towns and the bigger cities— there was more to do, more people to explore, and the crappy motels were actually pretty decent. But Boston, a town that he'd always enjoyed, was different to him now.

All it had taken was the prospect of leaving Boston _without _Sam, and his view of the city had changed all together.

It was the city where he'd almost had to let go of his little brother.

He suppressed a shudder.

Dean wanted to go back to small town diners with bad food. He could practically hear a soggy sandwich _calling_ to him from across the state.

********

Sam was sitting on his bed fully dressed—sweats, a t-shirt and socks—when Dean eventually made his way back into the room. He was leaning back heavily against his mountain of pillows, one leg out-stretched and the other bent at the knee.

Dean stripped off his leather jacket and gently draped it across the end of the bed. "Feelin' ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Starting to feel antsy, though."

"Well the car's all ready. Just waitin' on your papers."

"Then we're finally outta here."

Dean nodded, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the edge of the bed. "That's the rumor."

Sam studied his older brother silently for a moment and then in a quiet voice, he said, "You're still not happy about this, are you?"

The truth was Dean was completely torn down the middle when it came to his brother's release from the hospital. On one hand he was ecstatic, because he was just as bored—maybe even _more_ so—then Sam was, and just the _thought_ of hitting the road again made his stomach settle. He'd get to hunt and drive his car; thinking about the rumble of Impala's engine nearly gave him goosebumps.

On the other hand, it was hardwired into his big brother psyche that Sam always came first—_especially_ before Dean's own wants and comforts. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to leave Boston, check into a motel ten thousand miles away from any kind of medical help and Sam would fall ill again.

Stitches, bruises and bumps he could handle. He could set minor breaks and pop a dislocated shoulder back into place without even batting an eyelash.

But seizures, and all the other wonderful things that came along with brain injuries? That was _way_ beyond him.

When it came to Sam, he wasn't willing to take risks. He'd been that way since he was six; as soon as he was old enough to realize and accept the responsibilities that came with being a big brother.

Taking a deep breath, Dean raised one shoulder in a non-committal shrug. "Mixed feelings, I guess."

"Like…what?"

"Y'know what? Forget it." He sent his little brother a small smile. "The mad scientist says it's ok, your test results are good…just…for Christ sake, take it easy."

Sam couldn't help but return the tiny smile, nodding his head.

************

The borrowed pen practically flew across the page as Sam signed on the dotted line, indicating his desire to sign out 'against medical advice'. Dean stood off to the side with his arms crossed and Hogarth sighed as he took possession of the freshly signed paperwork.

"Well, as you gentlemen mentioned earlier, you _know the drill_-" He smiled at them.

Sam grinned and extended a hand; there was absolutely no hesitation from the doctor when he shook it. "Thank you for everything."

Dean copied the gesture, shaking the doctor's hand as well. "Yeah, thanks, doc."

"You're very welcome. I just have one request?"

"What's that?"

"All I ask in parting is that you take care of yourselves, the _both_ of you." He raised his eyebrows. "I honestly never heard the complete story of what happened at that warehouse, just please, for the love of God, don't do it again."

Sam chuckled quietly. "We'll do our best."

Letting out a tired breath, Hogarth reached into the breast pocket of his white lab coat and pulled out a business card; he handed it to Dean, gesturing towards the phone number on it. "That's my personal phone number." Dean's eyes widened slightly. "You mentioned that you travel, so I'm not too sure how much help I can continue to be to you…but if anything comes up, anything at _all_…feel free to call me."

The older Winchester found himself ridiculously swallowing hard as he held the stiff little business card in his fingers.

He was so annoyed with his overly exposed emotions, it wasn't even funny.

"Thank you." Dean's voice cracked embarrassingly and he cleared his throat. "That's uh…that's really good of you."

It was obvious that Hogarth, too, was feeling emotional. He looked over to Sam. "You're our own little success story, Sam. Give yourself time to heal properly and you'll be running marathons in no time."

After placing a fatherly pat on Dean's shoulder, the doctor turned and left the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind him.

*********

"I'm not doin' it, Dean-"

"Sam, sit down."

"No-"

"Sit your _ass_ in the _chair_-"

The disgust that took over Sam's face as they stood in front of the wheelchair was absolutely priceless, and Dean might've laughed if he hadn't been so determined to get his way.

"It's two floors down in the elevator, I'll be fine."

"Look man, you got a choice. Ok?" Dean narrowed his eyes and pointed enthusiastically towards the wheelchair. "It's either the chair or I throw you over my shoulder like a four-year-old."

"You wouldn't."

"You wanna bet money on that?"

"I kinda do, yeah."

Dean narrowed his eyes even more and started to roll up his sleeves, as if in preparation, daring Sam to not take his threat seriously.

As the two looked at each other, Sam's shoulders dismally dropped and Dean instantly knew he'd won the stand down.

He was only proven correct when Sam, looking purely miserable, carefully set himself down into the seat of the wheelchair.

Dean tried hard not to smirk in sheer smugness as he bent over and grabbed both of their duffel bags, tossing the straps over the same shoulder. And then, conveying as much pride into the movement as he could, he gently started pushing Sam's chair towards the closest elevator.

**********************

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Sam cleared his throat. "So…where we headed?"

The rumble of the Impala vibrated up through Dean's seat as it tore down the back road, and for the life of him he couldn't stop smiling.

Life, at that moment, was pretty good—Sam was alive and healthy, sitting beside him…the sun was shining brightly through the open window, comfortably warming his bare arms…and he felt relaxed and at ease, truly, for the first time in nearly two weeks.

Pushing his sunglasses to rest further up his nose, he glanced over at Sam—who was barricaded into his seat by pillows—and just kept on smiling. "Right now? How's _nowhere_ sound?"

"Nowhere?"

"I figured we'd drive for a couple hours, see how you were feelin'."

"I thought you wanted to crash and then look into those leads in Cambridge and Southie?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder, relaxing further into his seat. "I did."

"And you don't anymore?"

He hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath. "Actually…uh…I thought we could take a break from working."

"A _break_?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of _break_?"

"Y'know, a vacation."

Sam chuckled quietly. "Dude, not once—in our whole lives—have you ever _wanted_ to take a vacation."

"That's not true. When you had the chicken pox, I wanted to take a vacation then-"

"Yeah, only because you wouldn't ride in the car with me. You thought I was contagious, remember?"

Dean snorted in spite of himself.

"But a _vacation_? Where are we going to go?"

"Wherever."

"So we don't have a plan?"

"Hey, man, I don't know about you? But just bein' outside that damn hospital is makin' me feel better." Dean glanced over quickly. "So takin' a line from Hogarth; let's just go with the flow and see where we end up."

Sam couldn't help but make a face. "Y'know, whenever you're involved in a plan like that, Dean, it never turns out well."

The older man laughed. "Oh come on, Sammy. Have a little faith."

"Oh, I've got faith. You know another thing I've got? _Experience_."

"Experience with what?"

"Experience with _you_."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into one of his trademark smirks. "Yeah, whatever."

Even though neither man said it out loud, the truth was it didn't matter one bit where they went. A vacation, by Winchester definition, meant time spent _together_ that didn't involve hunting, hustling, researching or being thrown around by invisible entities. They could have a vacation together just sitting in the car, moving from town to town and spending every waking moment in each other's company.

Of course, if asked about it, either brother would say that spending _every waking moment _together was more of a hassle then anything—when in reality, they didn't think there was any other acceptable way of life.

It was their routine and they were used to it.

And Dean knew at that very moment that it didn't matter how annoyed they got with each other. It didn't matter if Sam complained or turned into 'Sammy, Mr. Emo geekboy'. He'd known what it was like to think he'd lost the one person in his world that made his world worth having—he'd known what it was like watching the man he'd raised practically waste away to nothing.

And no amount of complaining, or emotional geekboy-ness would ever erase the memory of how painful that void had been, or how dark the prospect was of having to live with it.

He was suddenly thanking God it was sunny enough to wear sunglasses.

Dean knew that one day Sam would ask. He could practically _feel_ the questions and curiousness wafting in their atmosphere; questions about the poltergeist, what had happened, what had gone on while he'd been unconscious. It was inevitable. Sam couldn't _not_ ask.

And Dean would cross that bridge when he got there. He didn't know if he'd want to talk about it or even if he'd be able to. But for the time being, he was happy where he was.

As he'd told Bobby days before, he and Sam were going to be just fine.

They couldn't _not_ be.

***

"_Hey, Dean?"_

_Looking up from his magazine, Dean's eyes fell on his little brother. "Yeah."_

_The little guy was standing there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot as if he didn't quite know what to do with himself. After a few agonizing seconds of silence, Dean furrowed his brow. "What's wrong with you? If you need to take a leak, dude, go to the bathroom-"_

"_Can I wear your leather jacket?"_

_The question burst from Sammy's lips as if the kid had been waiting to ask that single question for days. Dean, for his part, sat there stymied at first. It was unexpected…but manageable._

"_My jacket?"_

_Sammy bit his lip and nodded nervously. "Yeah."_

_Dean's recently inherited leather jacket was hanging majestically on the back of the wooden chair near the window. He'd seen his kid brother eyeing it for days but had never thought much of it. _

_The barely contained excitement Dean saw in Sam at that moment was heartwarming, though he'd never dream of admitting it. _

_Tossing aside his magazine, Dean stood from the bed and crossed the room; he didn't need to look to know that Sam was tagging along closely behind him, probably biting his lip in anticipation._

_Dean gripped the leather gently and pulled the jacket away from the chair. He knew without even thinking about it that the nine-year-old would swim in it, but it didn't matter—two Winchesters had worn it, it was about time for the third to have a go._

_Sending a nod to Sam, Dean carefully slid the jacket onto the younger boy's shoulders, helping him adjust it as he stuck his too short arms into the too long sleeves. _

_Swimming in it was a slight understatement._

_The arms were long to the point of being comical and if Sam were only a few inches shorter, it would have ended up being a leather jacket __**dress**__. _

_But none of that mattered, because the smile that broke out on Sam's face outshined everything else. _

_Sammy was smiling because of Dean and his leather jacket._

_Big brother mission accomplished. _


End file.
